Militis Argentum
by Malfodax
Summary: Draco Malfoy is a member of the Militis Argentum, an Assassin Knight for Lord Voldemort. His world & his beliefs are about to change...
1. The Minister

**Disclaimer's Notice: **I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters featuring in the books or the films. They belong to J.K Rowling and her wonderful mind.

**Chapter 1**

It was dark; there was no moon in the cloudy night sky. It was a perfect night for Draco Malfoy, he liked the dark and the cover it provided for the work he did. His work for 'Miles militis et Argentum Manus', more commonly known as Lord Voldemort's 'Knights of the Silver Hand', demanded stealth and secrecy which a night like this was perfectly positioned to provide. Contrary to popular opinion, Lord Voldemort did not like public killings as much as people thought he did. Having said that, he did not object to the publicity when the people killed were what he called, insignificant members of the public but when it was people from his own circle or high profile individuals, he preferred it to be quick and quiet to avoid mistakes. That was where the 'Militis Argentum' came in, the Silver Knights were a group of men and women hand picked and personally trained by Lord Voldemort himself as the elite assassins of the magical world.

Although only 24, Draco Malfoy was a senior member, highly skilled and very good at what he did despite the job's unpleasant nature.

It had all started with the death of Albus Dumbledore, the late headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Lord Voldemort had commanded Draco Malfoy to end Dumbledore's life at the tender age of 16. After failing to complete his first mission, the Dark Lord punished Malfoy's failure severely. Enduring the kind of torture no one before him had endured Malfoy's resolve at the end of the experience was ironclad. He would not fail the Dark Lord again and so decided to enlist in training for membership to the Knights of the Silver Hand to prove his worth. Although he knew of the Order's existence, the name had puzzled Malfoy for years until he began his basic training. On his very first day, Malfoy's instructor had explained to the class what it meant to be Militis Argentum. To be in the service of the Dark Lord was not a trivial matter taken lightly and, as such, there was a price for being a member of such an elite group. Many had assumed the cost monetary but the truth was altogether more sinister. The Dark Lord wanted no financial payment for the services he received from his Knights, he wanted payment in blood. Once initiated into the Order, the newly ordained Knights had to cut off their right hands as a sign of loyalty, servitude and constant willingness to do the Dark Lord's bidding.

Malfoy had thought this absurd at first, how were Knights expected to kill with only one hand. The reality of the situation was revealed to Draco when his instructor removed the ever-present leather glove from his right hand. Beneath the leather glove the hand appeared to be made of pure silver with a small serpent twisted around a dagger engraved on the palm next to the thumb, a gift from the Dark Lord for the sacrifice his instructor had explained to them. If you were willing to cut off your hand then the Dark Lord deemed you worthy of a new, more powerful one that held within it strength and magic wielded by no mortal. It was indestructible and unaffected by any kind of environment; no magic could destroy it and no object could damage it. The hand truly was invincible which symbolised the Order itself, powerful and without weakness.

It also proved to be an effective method of control; if a Knight betrayed the Order or turned traitor the hand would vanish leaving a bleeding stump that no magic could cure. The traitor would then bleed to death; it was a slow and painful way to go, as there was no prevention of the inevitable once the hand disappeared. It was also a highly effective method of secrecy as if a Knight was captured in the line of duty the hand would crush its owner's throat of its own accord instantly killing them thereby preventing any form of interrogation. Although the methods of the order were brutal, they were highly effective which was why so few people had ever heard of them or seen them in action. Their creed was secrecy and as the Knight's hands were always gloved except for in other's company, very few outside of the organisation knew of the Order's members or even their existence until it was too late.

Draco Malfoy stood at the bank of the nearby river; the moonless night provided ample cover for his large frame but he still stood under a tree. It was not necessary though as Malfoy could effectively conceal himself even in broad daylight. His stealth was one of the reasons he had progressed through the Order's ranks so quickly. He was effective, silent and always discreet which made him the perfect predator, the perfect assassin. His prey never stood a chance once he was assigned to the hit and his kill rate reflected this precision. Despite his position within the Militis Argentum and the respect it accorded him, among the other Knights, Malfoy was always humble; many of them were much older than he was. A man of little words, his reputation preceded him on every occasion and even the Death Eaters closest to the Dark Lord gave him a wide berth.

He crouched down and placed his gloved right hand on the ground. He felt the vibrations of the earth through the leather and closed his eyes to concentrate. Footsteps echoed from the ground in his fingertips and although he could not hear them, his hand told him they were coming from the south. He turned his massive muscular shoulders to face the direction and opened his silver eyes. Sure enough, he could make out the silhouette of a man walking towards the nearby bridge. Malfoy straightened to his full height of a proud 6 feet 4 inches and allowed his left hand to fall on the pommel of his silver bladed broadsword slung at his hip. The Dark Lord refused to allow kills to be made with wands as it made them traceable and could sometimes be deflected resulting in unnecessary complications. A clean, silent, swift guaranteed kill could only be achieved with a sword and so this profession did not require wands; any magic that needed to be performed during the course of a mission would be channelled through a Knight's right hand. Despite this and unlike most of the other Knights, Malfoy kept his wand with him at all times. He was not known to take risks and again, unlike many of his colleagues was not over confidant no matter the advantages he had at his disposal.

The figure was approaching fast and Malfoy recognised the slight limp it walked with, this was his target. The person appeared to be in a hurry and seemed to be unaware their life was about to end. Malfoy allowed the adrenaline to fill his system as he rolled his shoulders in anticipation of the kill. The figure got closer as Malfoy scanned the surrounding area for any sign of a trap and the presence of other people. All was quiet and as it should be, this relaxed Malfoy a little. The figure was now in voice range and still heading straight for the place where Malfoy was waiting. As the figure passed within feet of Malfoy's position, it stopped nervously and looked around. Malfoy decided it was time, pulled his thick black cloak around him to conceal his body and stepped out of the cover of the tree revealing himself to the target; it did not matter that the man recognised him, in a matter of minutes, he would not be able to tell anyone anyway.

"Minister," growled Malfoy in a deep, heavy voice. "Good evening, sir."

The man started in surprise and his eyes darted around to find the owner of the voice. He found Draco and breathed a sigh of relief.

"Mr. Malfoy! You gave me quite a start. What are you doing here?"

At these words Malfoy removed the glove from his right hand beneath his cloak and placed it in an inside pocket. His left hand gripped the hilt of his sword and drew it out silently. The tip of the blade was barely visible beneath the cloak's hem but the Minister for Magic had not been head of the Auror's Office for no reason. His eyes widened as he saw it and he was suddenly very still.

"By the order of the Grand Master of the Militis Argentum, you are hereby condemned for crimes against The Dark Lord and are to be hereby executed," said Malfoy in a smooth expressionless voice. He raised his right hand from beneath the cloak and opened his hand so the palm was facing the Minister. The serpent glowed ice blue around the purple glowing dagger as Malfoy said, "Silencio!"

A blanket of silence enveloped the two men as Malfoy raised his sword, gracefully lunged forward and thrust its tip through the minister's throat. The man gurgled, an expression of shock frozen on his face and then collapsed onto the ground. Malfoy retraced his left arm and flicked the blood off the blade. The Minister choked for a few seconds and then sighed and went still. Malfoy sheathed his now clean sword and stepped toward the Minister's body. He used his left hand to close the man's eyes and then pressed the palm of his right hand onto the Minister's chest. He saw the purple and blue light once again glow beneath his hand before removing it to see a replica of the Order's symbol, a snake coiled around a dagger, seared into his victim's chest. He replaced the glove on his right hand, turned on the spot and with a muffled _'crack',_ he was gone.

Malfoy walked down the large marbled corridor, his shoes tapping on the stone as he made his way to the door at the end of the hall. He paused for a moment outside it, adjusted his sword, stroked the beard on his chin and then took a deep breath. He raised a fist and knocked twice.

"Enter," said a high, cold voice.

"Malfoy pushed the door open and strode purposefully into the room. Standing by the fireplace was the Grand Master of the Militis Argentum. Malfoy placed his right fist over his heart in a salute and bowed his head to the man. The Grand Master nodded at Malfoy as he straightened up and moved towards the desk at the far end of the room. Lord Voldemort was seated behind his with a large snake draped over his shoulder. He was scratching the stop of the snake's head with a long white finger absentmindedly as he looked up from the parchments cluttered around his desk.

"Draco, you have news?" asked the Dark Lord

Malfoy dropped to one knee as he swept his cloak back and pushed his scabbard out behind him. He bowed his head and spoke, "My Lord, it is done. The Minister is dead."

"Excellent. You have done well."

"Thank you my Lord."

"Leave us," said the cold high voice once more. "The Grand Master & I have matters to discuss. Remain here until I call for you again."

"As you command my Lord," replied Malfoy as he rose and walked back to the door. Leaving the room, he pulled the door gently shut behind him and began walking back up the corridor once again.

He did not feel guilt at what he had just done because it was his job, his calling. This was his life, he was a Knight of the Silver Hand and this was his place; there was no room for guilt or remorse in this world of assassins.

What Draco Malfoy did not know as he walked towards his comrades, his family was that his life was about to change so drastically that if he had been forewarned, he would not have believed it ever possible.


	2. The Challenge & A New Mission

**Disclaimer's Notice: **I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters featuring in the books or the films. They belong to J.K Rowling and her wonderful mind.

**Chapter 2**

Malfoy entered the mess hall through a large wooden door at the end of the corridor. As his fellow Knights began to notice his presence they began to fall silent one by one. Draco hated it when people treated him as if he were something special. It infuriated him to think that his comrades looked at him in awe, he knew that he was good but he thought if everyone tried a little harder they too could be as good as he was. It did not take any vast measure of talent to be an assassin you just needed good training (which they all had) and dedication to your work. While all the Knights had dedication, the true strength of their convictions varied from person to person. Unfortunately, dedication and conviction were not something that could be taught to you, either you had faith in the Dark Lord's work or you did not.

Draco observed the room from a corner for a while apparently looking for someone. His silver eyes raked over the mass of black & silver clad Knights and robed Death Eaters. A few of the Knights came over to him and nodded in recognition as they went through the door that led outside but said nothing when they passed him. He saw Crabbe & Goyle sitting with Rookwood who was telling a story animatedly. Crabbe saw Malfoy's eyes watching them and bowed his head in respect. Malfoy smiled at his old school friend (who had been rejected twice for transfer from the Death Eaters to the Militis Argentum) and raised a hand in return greeting. At last, Draco found the figure he was searching for and moved away from the wall he had been leaning on.

Malfoy walked towards one of the tables on the far side of the room, to where his father was with a few of the other senior Death Eaters. As he progressed through the mess hall, the Knights he passed all raised their glasses to him, bowed their heads and muttered low greetings of varying degrees.

While there were no official ranks within the Knights beyond the offices of the Grand Master and Seneschal, all the Knights respected an informal hierarchy based on the number of kills a Knight had as well as their current favour with the Grand Master. As it stood for the last 3 years Malfoy had been top of this informal hierarchy. He did not know if it was his constant willingness to do what was necessary but even though he was one of the youngest members, he received almost the same amount of respect as the Grand Master himself for his achievements. While some would have thrived on the attention, it made Malfoy very uncomfortable. Perhaps it was partly because he had spent the better part of his youth training to be invisible that the attention made him squirm, although he never showed it.

"Argentum Mane," murmured one Knight with a smile in his eyes as Draco passed him. Draco returned it and clapped the man on the shoulder jovially. He hated the names they called him; Argentum Mane (Earl of Silvers) and Deus et Argentum (God of the Silvers) were just some of the honorary titles his brothers of the sword used when addressing him. His father had cautioned him against showing displeasure at the names, as he felt they could be useful. The mere mention of them held a certain power over the other men, Knights and Death Eaters alike which Malfoy senior had discouraged his son from ignoring.

What no one seemed to realise was that Draco Malfoy did not want power or recognition. He did not crave attention or praise, he did his job with dedication because he believed his cause just and true. There was no hidden agenda in his actions: he trained, he prepared, he killed and then it began all over again. Malfoy sat down at the table and greeted first his father and then the other Death Eaters. A house elf appeared with a beaker of wine and a large plate of food. She set it before him and as Draco thanked her, expressions of disgust rippled through his father's circle. Acknowledging the presence of house-elves was not something usually practiced in the wizarding world but Draco did not care. House-elves were living creatures and deserved a little politeness (if nothing else) from the people they served. The distasteful expressions vanished before Malfoy could look up and take notice, instead the men smiled soothingly at him.

Draco took a sip of wine from the goblet before him as his father spoke, "Well Draco. Is it done?"

Draco looked at his father with steady eyes, "The Minister has been taken care of, Father. So yes it is, done. Why do you ask? Did you doubt my ability to carry out my orders?"

Malfoy's father looked a little shocked, "Doubt your abilities? My son, the Deus et Argentum is never to be doubted by anyone. You are a King among beggars Draco, and never let anyone ever tell you otherwise. I was merely interested because I was unaware that the kill had been planned for tonight."

Malfoy did not reply but began eating his supper. Noticing Malfoy was not really in the mood to talk, the other men soon fell into conversation as Draco ate in silence. The air was usually rife with gossip in the mess hall, it was the only place Death Eaters and Knights could sit together and socialise. Both factions although controlled by the Dark Lord, operated as separate entities with different daily regimens. The Death Eaters were the public face of the Dark Lord they moved freely through the magical world and maintained order through fear. The Knights on the other hand, spent their time away from missions in a state of constant training and continued preparation. As well as being Lord Voldemort's assassins the Militis Argentum were also his infiltrators and spies. Altogether very secretive and highly disciplined, they exercised, sparred with one another and practiced the skills of their trade with ruthless precision. The Order itself was a very small group of men and women, in total the entire population of the Militis Argentum hovered at around 30 members. The small size of the order was partly why its members were so revered; they were the elite among the rest.

Draco finished his supper and sat back in his chair listening to the conversation around him. Silent by nature he rarely contributed to conversation finding it more beneficial and interesting to observe. Finishing the last of his wine, he found the conversation dull and slightly boring. He placed his goblet back on the table and pushed his chair back as he stood up to leave. Bidding the table goodnight, Malfoy walked over to a door that led into the entrance hall of the castle. He passed a few people on his way to the courtyard; all of them paused, saluted him and then continued walking. He stepped out into the dark night and made his way across the stone paved ground. Large, bright, blazing braziers lit his way as he reached a large wooden door inlaid with the Order's Coat of Arms. He removed the glove from his right hand and pressed it flat against the wood. A soft clicking could be heard through the wood as the door read his palm, unsealed itself and opened with a hiss. Malfoy stepped through the now open doorway and into a large room where the Order's Master of Arms greeted him.

An elderly man with short grey hair, a matching neatly clipped silver beard and a warm face: Tiberius the Master of Arms had been a favoured assassin of the Dark Lord before the birth of Harry Potter. When Voldemort had vanished after his confrontation with the Potters in Godric's Hollow Tiberius, along with the rest of the Militis Argentum had disappeared without a trace. To this day, no one knows where the Knights went during the interim but as soon as the Dark Lord returned to power, they reappeared. Such was the dedication of the Knights, even though their master had vanished, they continued to train with the belief that he would rise again and require their service and loyalty once more. Although many of them were now too old to serve Voldemort in the field, the Dark Lord had given them the responsibility of selecting and training new recruits to replenish the Knight's numbers. Tiberius has spent many years in exile with the Goblins before he joined up with Voldemort, and was therefore in charge of all the swords and weapons the order used. His expertise with weapons made him a valuable member of the Order and even though he was now too old to serve as he once did, the Dark Lord had honoured him with a titled position within the ranks. Although each new Knight was given a goblin-made sword at their initiation ceremonies, certain missions required specialist weapons that Tiberius was always happy to provide.

"My Lord Tiberius," greeted Malfoy as he saluted the man with his fist over his heart.

"Come, come Draco! There is no need for such formalities after all we are equal brothers of the Order. From what I hear it should be I that salutes you in such a manner," replied Tiberius with the ghost of a grin playing across his eyes.

"Sorry sir," replied Draco with a smile. "Old habits die hard. You honour me with your words but they are unnecessary, I have done nothing worthy of such an act."

"Indeed, old habits die as they should, slowly and reluctantly. As for your deeds my boy, well they speak for themselves. Enough said!" said Tiberius.

"I am off to bed, sir. Is there anything I can do for you before I turn in?"

"No, no Draco you carry on. I was just going to the mess hall for a nightcap before I retire myself. I will see you at the sparring session tomorrow. Rest well."

Tiberius moved out of the door and shut it firmly behind him. Draco moved through the room and up the stone stairwell to the Knights quarters. He stopped on the third floor of the tower and entered his room closing the door behind him. He moved past the room to the armchair by the window. He stretched and unbuckled his cloak, draping it over the back of the chair. Removing his sword and belt, he hung them from the hook on the wooden clotheshorse that stood in the corner next to his freshly laundered uniforms. Although Knights wore plain black and silver unmarked uniforms when on missions, while they were at the headquarters, they dressed slightly differently. While they always wore black trousers, black knee-length leather boots and a long-sleeve silver shirt over which a full-length black surcoat was draped, at headquarters their surcoats had the Order's Coat of Arms embroidered on the chest. During the winter months, a thick woollen black mantle hung off and over the Knights' shoulders to supplement this uniform. When at headquarters and in full uniform the knights, who left their right hands un-gloved at all times, were a remarkable and intimidating sight especially considering every single one of the Knights was built like a tank, over six feet tall and able to kill using only one hand.

Malfoy removed his gloves and placed them on his desk. He removed his unmarked surcoat & shirt and dropped them in a corner of the room along with his trousers. His placed his boots, stained with mud beside the pile of dirty clothes for polishing. Stretching he walked over to the double bed that held centre place in his room. Wearing nothing but his underwear, he pulled back the covers and got into bed but before he reached to extinguish the lamp, he raised his right hand to eye level. The lamplight reflected off the unblemished surface of the hand and it glittered elegantly in the dim glow. He turned his palm toward his face and traced the serpent and dagger engraving with his left thumb. All the magic this hand could do funnelled through this symbol; it was the outlet for the power he possessed and wielded through this greatest of all gifts. It was beautiful and a true treasure, Malfoy mused as he examined it closely. It was seamlessly attached a few inches above his wrist and as he moved his fingers to the place where the hand began, he noticed how the silver had laced itself through his natural skin. It was almost as if the hand was growing out of his own body. He flexed the hand's fingers and closed it into a tight fist before lowering it above his head, he knew the hand had enough strength to crush a grown man's throat in seconds and enough magic to stun an adult Dragon on first attempt. The thought of that much magical power and strength flowing through his veins made the skin on Malfoy's stomach tingle.

He reached over and extinguished the lamp allowing his thoughts to dissipate and the tiredness to wash over him. He was soon soundly asleep.

The next morning Draco rose before dawn. The air in the room was chilly and the fire had died down so there was very little light with the curtains closed. Draco forced himself out of bed and went over to stoke the fire. Once he had the flames kindled back into a hearty blaze he padded across the room and opened the curtains. A thin mist hovered above the dewy ground and the sky was clear. The blush of a pink line was beginning to form on the Eastern horizon; it looked like it was going to be another fine summer day. Malfoy stepped into the bathroom and undressed as he stepped into the shower. The warm water jolted his cool skin as he washed with his usual thoroughness. The Order did not tolerate poor personal hygiene, so the rigour Malfoy was using to scrub himself was justified. After showering, Malfoy went over to the sink and began his shaving routine. He took great pride in his appearance and as such, shaving was an important part of his grooming. Malfoy refused to use magic for this particular task and instead used a straight razor and shaving soap finding this method more precise. Lathering the soap in a cup, he applied it to his face with a thick badger-hair brush. He wiped the soap off his chin to expose the hair he was growing there and began to shave around the square that reached an inch below his chin and up to the corners of his mouth. The blonde hair was thick and smooth, he had been growing his chin goatee for years and as such, he had the art of shaping virtually perfected.

Malfoy finished shaving and dressed in his headquarters uniform quickly. He removed his sword and belt from their hook and fastened it around his waist; he drew his sword from its scabbard and gripped it in his left hand. Feeling the familiar weight of the blade, Malfoy ran his right hand along the razor sharp edge and checked its sharpness. Satisfied he sheathed his sword and left the room going down the steps and out the door into the courtyard. The sun had risen fully now and the warm rays were beginning to evaporate the morning dew that lay fresh on the ground. Malfoy's boots crunched the gravel as he walked towards the entrance hall door of the castle. There seemed to be no one awake yet however, as Malfoy made his way to the mess hall he heard the din of conversation coming from behind the thick door. He walked through the wooden door and saw a large group of Death Eaters having a debate with another smaller group. All around the Death Eaters were small groups of Knights (who were paying little attention to the commotion), and eating their breakfast in relative silence. As Malfoy made his way to join one of his brothers a young red-faced Death Eater, that he did not recognise came charging towards him.

"You there, Knight, why don't you tell us what you think about this. Death Eaters augmenting the Knight's ranks and giving you guys a hand with the infiltrating and spying stuff," he roared enthusiastically. Apparently, the young Death Eater did not notice the drop in noise level as he stared up into Malfoy's face waiting for an answer.

Malfoy stared back at the Death Eater curiously; he did not know this boy's name or what to make of his absurd question. He had eyes the colour of peat and brown hair. He was of slender build and stood a few inches shorter than Malfoy but looked no older than eighteen. A ripple of whispers swept through the room as the young man continued to stand before Malfoy, as his posture seemed to demand a response from him.

Draco cleared his throat gently, "Death Eaters augmenting the ranks of the Militis Argentum?"

The boy nodded in approval. Draco looked over the Death Eater's head and his steel grey eyes locked gazes with a few of the other Knights around the room. He winked so quickly that the Death Eater in front of him did not notice. Three Knights moved from their tables very slowly and silently made their way across to where Malfoy was standing face to face with the young man. The remainder of the room's occupants were watching the exchange too closely to notice the Knights' movements. Malfoy looked back at the boy and smiled slightly.

"Death Eaters do not have the skills necessary to do what we do. It would be a foolish act to try and make both branches strive for the same ray of light," said Draco.

"So, what you are saying is that you think Death Eaters are too weak to be able to cope with Argentum work then. You think we are all soft. I will prove you wrong, Argentum Knight. I challenge you to a sparring match; if I win then you will swallow your arrogance and admit that Death Eaters are just as good as Argentum," said the boy loudly. He turned around to grin encouragement at his comrades but instead met with the horrified looks and fearful expressions of the group at large. He frowned slightly and then turned back to face Malfoy.

"What say you, Knight?" he asked again.

Malfoy chuckled, "Boy, you want to know why the Argentum are better than the Death Eaters? Why we will not help you spy and infiltrate? Turn around and you will understand."

The boy turned his head and saw three men standing behind him where there were none a few seconds ago. He jumped and yelped in surprise. The three Knights laughed aloud and slapped each other on the back. One of them came over to the boy and bent down, "Boo!" he whispered in his ear. The boy smiled weakly and turned back to Draco.

"I accept your challenge, you have guts and I admire that. Meet me at the training field at 4 o'clock this afternoon. We will see what you are made of," said Draco clearly. He placed his left hand on the boy's shoulder as he walked past and joined a table of angry looking Knights. He sat down with his back to the crowd and pulled a tray of sausages toward his plate. As he began serving himself he noticed the expressions of his fellow Knights and chortled to himself.

"Brothers, be calm. The boy was just having some fun. This afternoon's match is friendly, so there is no need to look so affronted," said Malfoy heartily.

"But my lord Argentus, the boy has no manners! How dare he speak to you in such a way! It is insulting, we are Knights, not common thugs to parley with at some child's leisure," exclaimed a Scottish sounding Knight to Draco's right. "What right or skill does he have to challenge a Knight to spar, and of all the Knights in the Order, he insulted the Argentum Mane!"

"Pax, Brother Duncan," said Malfoy to the man. Although the Knight called Duncan said no more on the matter, he did so reluctantly and glowered at the group of Death Eaters who were still silent and very subdued. The boy who had challenged Malfoy was being scolded by a group of older Death Eaters and appeared very putout by the whole affair. An elderly looking man was soon walking over to the table where Malfoy was now eating his breakfast. Duncan touched Draco's forearm and gestured to the figure who was behind them waiting at a polite distance for permission to approach.

Malfoy turned in his chair and the beckoned the old man to him. "Yaxley, you hardly need an invitation to speak with me. What can I do for you?" asked Draco.

"Argentum Mane, forgive me. The boy, William is my charge and he should not have spoken to you in such a disrespectful manner. I accept full responsibility for his offence and beg your indulgence. He is new, not yet branded and does not know our ways," spluttered Yaxley.

"Nonsense! He caused me no offense and it is actually quite refreshing to have a little competition from the Death Eaters. If not challenged, how can we hope to improve our skills? I may yet learn something from this William," said Draco firmly.

Yaxley said no more and he backed away with his head bowed to where the young Death Eater, William was waiting looking triumphant. The Knights did not challenge Malfoy's decision either and turned back to their plates in silence.

Malfoy felt irritated; he was glad that William had challenged him. It was normal to have a little friendly rivalry within the Dark Lord's circle but because his comrades were so wary of him, they mostly left him alone. This nonsense of unnecessary respect and fear was stifling and had always left Malfoy feeling awkward and out of place. The whole point of the Militis Argentum was to promote unity and equality within the servants of Voldemort. His unofficial status as a distinguished Knight was unwanted and if he was honest with himself, it made him feel included to have been engaged in such a direct way. Malfoy had not realised how much he had missed the mess hall banter and games until his exchange with William; it was refreshing!

An owl soared in through one of the open windows and landed on the table in front of Malfoy, interrupting his thoughts. He put down his fork and untied the black scroll from the owl's leg; it stole a piece of sausage from Malfoy's plate and then left through the open skylight above their heads. The other Knights showed masked interest in the delivery. Only the Grand Master used black parchment and he only summoned Knights if there was an important or very delicate mission to be completed. Normally, Knights received their orders from the Seneschal who was second in command within the Order. As Malfoy rolled the scroll in his hands, he found the wax seal that bound it shut. He had received a few of these kinds of summons before therefore knew what to do in order to open it. He pressed his silver right hand to the scroll and felt the symbol on his palm radiate warmth into his fingers. The seal melted away and he unrolled the parchment to reveal a note scrawled in bright silver unicorn blood.

_Assignment briefing in the Argentum Library, ASAP; Come alone._

_- Reynard_

Very few Knights called the Grand Master by his given name but he still, always signed his correspondence with it. It was a habit of old when he had been an ordinary Knight with no rank or status within the Order. Although the note had not been addressed by name to anyone, Malfoy knew that the Grand Master had meant it for him. If it had been for anyone else, the seal would not have melted at his touch. Malfoy finished his breakfast quickly and made to leave the mess hall; as he walked towards the door, he passed by William's table and called out to him.

"William, make sure you aren't late. I expect this little sparring session will draw some form of a crowd and it is very rude to keep your fans waiting," he said with a broad smile.

William smiled back at Malfoy nervously and nodded, "Yes sir, I will be on time."

"For heaven's sake Will, do not call me sir! I am barely older than you and if you submit to me now I will have won half the battle before we have even begun!"

William grinned at this, "The day I submit to you is the day I change my name to Gwendolyn and wear flowers in my hair! I will be there, make sure you're ready, old man!"

Draco stroked his bearded chin and laughed heartily as he walked out of the mess hall feeling in very good spirits. He went back into the entrance hall and began to walk up the stairs. He passed by two Death Eaters as he went who both moved aside to let him pass. "Electo, Amicus," greeted Malfoy as he passed them. They both saluted him and muttered, 'Argentus' before continuing down the steps. Malfoy reached the double oak doors of the library and knocked once. A voice commanded him 'Enter', he opened the door and stepped inside the vast, high ceilinged room. The Grand Master and the Seneschal were leaning over a table pouring over a mass of parchment and discussing what looked like an infiltration strategy in hushed tones. At the sight of Malfoy, they both stopped talking and watched him walk over to where they were standing. A half dozen other Knights were scattered around the massive library pouring over various texts and mission briefings; not one of them paused or looked up from their work as Malfoy passed by them, for which he was grateful. It was bad enough the Knights treated him like the Grand Master at all but do it in front of the man himself would have been mortifying. Malfoy reached the table within seconds of entering the library and bowed to first the Grand Master and then to the Seneschal in turn.

"I am here for my next assignment as ordered, sir."

The Seneschal began gathering up the pieces of parchment as the Grand Master spoke.

"Ah yes, Malfoy. Follow me," said the Master as he began walking toward an antechamber just off the main library. Malfoy said nothing as he fell into step beside the head of the Order. He noticed that the Seneschal was following them carrying the rolls of parchment under his right arm; his right hand rested on the emerald encrusted pommel of his broadsword. He though this unusual, normally if the Grand Master summoned Malfoy for a mission briefing he usually conducted it alone and in his study. The location of their meeting was as puzzling to Malfoy as the Seneschal's presence but he did not say a word about it; the Grand Master always had a good reason for everything he did. As the three men entered the antechamber Malfoy saw a figure standing by the bookshelves in semi-darkness. The Grand Master moved over to a large wooden table and motioned to the Seneschal who began arranging the rolls of parchment on its surface. The figure moved into the light behind the Grand Master and he turned to face it bowing low with the Seneschal mimicking his movements. If these two men were bowing, it could only mean that the figure was the Dark Lord himself. At this realisation, Malfoy quickly lowered his eyes and sank onto one knee. He was even more confused now, what mission was so important that the Dark Lord himself would want to be present at its briefing?

"Do stand up Draco," said the high cold voice. Malfoy did as commanded and walked over to the table. Voldemort had sat down at the head and he gestured at the remaining three chairs for the others to take their places. After they had all settled down, Voldemort spoke again.

"We are in this antechamber Draco, to give you an assignment of the utmost importance. This room is one of the most secure locations on this estate and our use of it today should give you an indication of the gravity of the mission we are about to give you. However, before we begin this meeting I want you to tell me something, Malfoy. Are you a loyal Knight? Do you serve the Militis Argentum and I with pure heart, devotion and conviction? Would you defend and protect me against any enemy?" said Voldemort.

"My lord, yes! I am and always have been your most humble servant. Ask it of me and I will do anything for you," said Draco bowing his head.

"Excellent, you see Reynard. I told you we could trust him. The Argentum Mane is perfect for this mission, his participation will guarantee our success," said Voldemort to the Grand Master.

Draco flinched slightly when the Dark Lord used his 'title', he knew it was meant as a compliment to his skills and reputation but it felt wrong hearing it in that voice. The Dark Lord was supreme in all things; there was no one even close to his rank or power so by affiliating a lowly Knight like Malfoy with his regal status he was in fact honouring him beyond measure. It still felt awkward despite the implications it had for his esteem in the Dark Lord's eyes.

Voldemort turned back to Malfoy, "Draco, the mission I would like you to complete is simple in nature and yet very complex in execution. It will require months of planning and careful administration. Even the slightest fault or mistake and the whole operation will collapse around us leaving the Order exposed and me vulnerable. Do you understand and agree with the importance of these aspects?"

"Yes my lord, completely," said Draco with as much conviction as he could muster.

"Good, because Draco, I want you to kill Harry Potter."


	3. Mission Details and Moral Dilemmas

**Disclaimer's Notice: **I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters featuring in the books or the films. They belong to J.K Rowling and her wonderful mind.

**Chapter 3**

Malfoy was dumbstruck; he was staring at Voldemort with wide eyes. Had he heard him correctly? He wanted Malfoy to kill Harry Potter! What had surprised Draco the most was, not Harry Potter's high profile but the fact that the Dark Lord wanted someone else to end Harry's life? Had he not on countless occasions before told his Death Eaters not to harm a hair on Harry Potter's head? Had he not maintained his desire to kill Harry himself despite the countless opportunities others had to do it themselves? These questions swirled through Malfoy's mind but he did not voice even one of them, he was a trained Knight and trained Knights did not question orders. Instead, he looked at the other two men seated at the table briefly before acknowledging his understanding of what the Dark Lord had asked of him.

"When would you like it done, my lord?"

Voldemort had been watching Malfoy with an interested expression. Evidently, his reaction at the mission was expected but the Dark Lord was surprised at how quickly Malfoy had regained his composure. He considered the man seated before him for a few minutes and then spoke.

"The act itself will not occur for some time. There is still much preparation needed and the timing must be perfect otherwise, our plan will not work. However, we have determined your entry point for the assassination," said Voldemort coolly.

"Entry point, sir?" asked Malfoy a little confused.

"The person through which you will gain the necessary access to Potter. He is far too well guarded and protected for the use of a standard operational procedure. You must use someone he is close to in order to get near enough to kill him."

"And that person will be…" prompted Malfoy. The Grand Master, with a nod of approval from Lord Voldemort finished the briefing.

"Hermione Granger, the Mudblood who is always with Potter," he stated simply. "She is one of his closest friends and advisors, not to mention she has unlimited access to the Order of the Phoenix's headquarters which will probably be the best place for you to carry out your mission. There will be very few witnesses, as most of their operatives are engaged in espionage missions within the Death Eaters' ranks, and very slim chances of failure if you do it somewhere that secluded and isolated. Intelligence suggests that the Potter's headquarters are somewhere in the highlands of Scotland, some 50 miles west of the city of Inverness. The terrain is similar to that of the surrounding area of our headquarters, which should provide a good replica course for any necessary training you need to do. Once you have dispatched Potter, the remainder of the Argentum Knights will arrive to exterminate the rest of the Order; in effect, your actions will be killing two birds with one stone. Harry Potter will be dead and the Order of the Phoenix will be no more thereby eliminating all opposition to our Lord's reign," finished the Grand Master.

Malfoy considered this new piece to the puzzle; Hermione Granger was to be his access point. Although he did not have any personal feelings whatsoever toward Hermione herself, he found the thought of using her to get to Harry rather distasteful. Despite their mutual hatred of each other at school, he had long since forgotten her and found it odd to be imagining himself in any kind of relationship with her after so many years and experiences apart. He however, remained silent and decided to speak with the Grand Master about the details later; right now, he needed to reassure the Dark Lord that he was up to the challenge. Malfoy nodded his head in agreement and acceptance, and then looked over at Voldemort who was still studying him closely with mild amusement etched in his white snake-like face. The air was very still and no one spoke for a while. The Grand Master and the Seneschal were consulting the maps and charts scattered between them as Voldemort tapped his long thin fingers on the table's smooth surface. Malfoy was staring at his silver hand, which was resting on his knee, and very aware that Voldemort was still watching him.

After another few minutes of silence, Voldemort decided the meeting was over and he stood up and made to leave but before he left the room, he turned and looked at Malfoy once more, "Do not make me regret choosing you for this mission Draco. Failure in this task will not bode well for your family or your reputation." The Grand Master looked over at Malfoy, who by now was also standing, and saw a resolute expression adorned on his handsome face.

"I will not fail you my lord, I never have."

"That is true, but there is always a first time for everything," said Voldemort smoothly as he exited the room and closed the door behind him. The three men immediately sat back down at the table. The Seneschal began speaking to the Grand Master, discussing plans and logistics while referring to the parchments in front of them. Malfoy was barely paying attention, he was thinking about Harry Potter. The last time the two had met was during the Great Battle of Hogwarts seven years ago. They had duelled for a while but Harry, seeing the Battle was lost had fled the scene flanked by members of the Order of the Phoenix and gone into hiding. No one had seen him since although he continued to coordinate the resistance efforts from his base of operations in Scotland. While Voldemort roughly knew which part of the country Harry had chosen for his base, no one was actually sure where it was because of the amount of enchantments and protective charms that had been placed around the stronghold. Most of the Hogwarts staff that had taught during Malfoy's time as a student there were part of the Potter Resistance so their defensive magical capabilities were unparalleled. While the Death Eaters had the offensive advantage with their vast numbers, the hordes of soldiers were useless if they did not know where to strike.

Before long the Grand Master and Seneschal finished their conversation and the latter began gathering the parchment into piles once more. As the two of them stood up to leave the room, Malfoy called out to the Grand Master.

"Sir, a word in private if you please."

Reynard nodded and turned to his second in command, "Robert, I will speak to you on this matter in greater detail later. Please excuse us."

The Seneschal nodded and left the room alone. After making sure the door was closed properly, the Grand Master moved back towards the table where Malfoy was still standing.

"What troubles you Draco?"

"Sir I do not mean to question your orders, but are you sure that using Hermione Granger for access to Harry Potter is the correct way to execute this mission. The assassins have never used people to reach their targets before and I was under the impression that doing so would be against our codes and creed."

"It is not normally done but Harry Potter is no normal target, wouldn't you agree. Having said that, I must admit that the plan seems a little distasteful at first glance but who are we to question the Dark Lord. He wants you to use Granger and so you must. We live to serve him and he wants both Potter and the Phoenix members disposed of in one go, so we must oblige."

"I have no problem with the mission, but rather the means by which it is to be done. Using a woman in such a manner is not honourable! I am an ordained Knight of the Militis Argentum and surely, we are to have more respect for life than that; if not then how are we any different from the Death Eaters who torture, rape and defile their victims before they are gifted with death," mused Malfoy.

The Grand Master smiled kindly at him. "We are different, Draco because we do things that others cannot. Yes, we have respect for life and conduct our affairs and ourselves with honour and dignity, but we also end life. Never forget that we are assassins first and Knights second."

"I thought that being a good Knight transcended all things in life. To live with pride in who we are and what we do," said Malfoy.

"You should be proud, but remember my young _Proeliator_ that sometimes we have to do what is commanded of us no matter the stains those acts may leave on our mantles," said Reynard in a fatherly tone.

Malfoy did not argue any further and instead bowed to the Grand Master. "Forgive me, _Dominus_. I speak without regard for your wisdom. I promise, I will not fail you."

The Grand Master placed a large hand on Malfoy's shoulder and squeezed it gently. He turned to leave but before he could Malfoy asked one last question, "How am I supposed to gain enough trust from Granger to reach Harry Potter? She hated me when we were at Hogwarts and she knows that my family are all Death Eaters."

Reynard laughed, "You are a resourceful man Malfoy, use you imagination. I'm sure you could be very persuasive if you tried." He opened the door and walked through it back into the library. Malfoy followed silently after him but turned away from the Grand Master at the library's main door and walked down the stairs back into the sunny courtyard.

His mind filled with questions that seemed to have no answers as he paced around the stone square. Knights were not restricted from having personal attachments nor did they take vows of chastity when ordained but they rarely had such opportunities for leisurely pursuits. The life of a Knight was solitary by nature and they did not really have the time for anything other than training and missions. That was not to say that all Knights had no knowledge of women, many had been in relationships and a few were even married. Malfoy himself had many conquests under his belt; the daughters, sisters and female Death Eaters seemed to constantly find themselves attracted to the mysterious and powerful Knights of the Militis Argentum. During many of these fleeting female 'infatuations', Malfoy had always been happy to oblige and give the poor besotted girls a close encounter with the object of their fantasies. None of the affairs had ever lasted long enough to classify as a relationship although Malfoy had vast experience with the physical aspects of such liaisons. But this felt different; liaisons that occurred as a result of mutual attraction was one thing but to actually be ordered to pursue the affections of a woman for the purpose of a mission was something entirely different. It did not feel right and Malfoy was not sure how to act on emotions that he did not truly feel.

He soon grew bored with pacing around the courtyard and wandered over to a wooden fence that surrounded a pasture filled with sheep. He watched the white fluffy animals, who had not yet been shorn, for a while and decided that over thinking the issue was useless considering the mission probably would not begin for some time. He still felt uneasy about the whole thing but after resolutely deciding not to think about it, he turned from the fence and headed for the estate's main forge.

As Malfoy neared the large black stone building, he saw that Tiberius was standing with Theodore the Blacksmith a little away from the sweltering heat of the forge's main furnace. The two men were carefully examining what appeared to be a sword positioned on the anvil. The metal glowed red in the sunlight and Malfoy could see a bucket of water placed on the ground nearby. His basic knowledge of metalwork told him that a water-filled bucket was used to seal any adjustments made to molten shaped metal worked by a blacksmith at any given time. As he approached the men, Theodore was the first to raise his head.

Although not an ordained Knight, Theodore was the only member of the 'lay people', as Tiberius called them that had regular and intimate contact to the Argentum Knights and their business. A trained blacksmith, he worked closely with Tiberius in the constructing of swords and other weapons used by the Knights on their many missions. He also acted as the estate's farrier, shoeing horses and repairing equipment such as saddles and bridles also used by the Knights.

Malfoy raised his hand in return greeting as Theodore waved him over to a makeshift table nearby. The sun was shining down strongly and Malfoy felt a bead of sweat trickle down his cheek into his goatee as he saluted Tiberius; it really was turning out to be a very warm summers day. Theodore bowed low to him as he stopped between the table and anvil, "Master Malfoy, how can I serve you?"

"I just came to see what you were working on, Theodore. Anything interesting come your way this morning," asked Malfoy in a cheerful, relaxed tone.

"No sir, nothing of particular interest. Tiberius and I have begun work on the swords for the initiations next month," said Theodore indicating the slender strip of metal in front of them. "Pardon my say so sir, but there seem to be fewer and fewer Knights every cycle. I made seven swords for the last ceremony but this initiation has only called for two."

Tiberius smiled slightly, "Theodore, you should be happy that you are having to make fewer swords each time. It means that the Order is strong and we have no need of fresh Knights to bolster our ranks. When one year passes during which you do not raise your hammer once for sword making, the Order will be doing their job perfectly."

Theodore chuckled loudly, "My lord, the year I do not raise my hammer once will be the year I retire from this trade!"

"Well I hope you have your retirement plans arranged old friend because I believe your threat is about to be put to the test. After these last two initiates have passed the trials, the Militis Argentum will close its recruitment doors until either one of us dies or retires from the field," retorted Draco.

Tiberius interrupted the conversation at this, "Pray that day is far from now, gentlemen. The Militis Argentum is as strong in numbers as our Knights are in devotion to its cause. Long may it remain!"

"Long may it remain," echoed Malfoy heartily.

"So," said Theodore grinning widely after a few moments of silence, "I hear that some little whelp challenged you to a sparring session this afternoon."

Malfoy smiled, "Indeed he did, I believe the boy's name is William. I'm told he is not yet branded which means he is under the age of seventeen. Interesting that he has been allowed to join the Death Eaters so young; they are usually quite fussy about age."

"Yes, it is curious that he has been recruited so early in his life. However, do not forget Draco, you also were recruited young. Fifteen were you when the Dark Lord gave you your first assignment?"

Malfoy looked at Tiberius, "I was sixteen, and I failed my task. It was shameful how weak I was," he replied.

"There is no shame in finding it hard to end a life," said Tiberius simply.

"My lord Tiberius is right, Master Malfoy," agreed Theodore. "Plus, think about it this way: if you had been able to kill old Dumbledore back during your school days, you probably would not have felt the need to train harder and be the best in order to redeem yourself. You would have probably never joined the Militis Argentum and you would be just like the rest of those Death Eaters, arrogant and unsubtle!"

Malfoy smiled gratefully, "True, but I do sometimes wish they would stop putting me on a pedestal. It is so infuriating, we are all Knights therefore we are all equal. We are each no more special than those who fight beside us so why do they treat me differently. It makes it so awkward whenever I am at headquarters."

Tiberius was the one who spoke next and although his tone was casual, Malfoy could tell from his expression that he intended his words to be heeded seriously, "Draco it is human nature for all men to strive for betterment over others. You have skills and extreme talent in what you do therefore some will envy you while you will inspire others but all will respect and fear you. It is the way of the world and to discourage such behaviour from fellow Knights as well as Death Eaters would not only be insulting to this respect but it would belittle your obvious talents. My advice, young Argentus, is to take the respect and the fear as they come but bear them with grace that all may love and continue to respect thee."

Malfoy inclined his head and said no more. Theodore broke the natural silence that had fallen, "So this spar, what weapons have you chosen?" He raised his hammer and banged out an imperfection that he had just noticed in the blade. Malfoy waited until the sword was plunged into the water with a loud hiss before he spoke.

"We have not spoken of weaponry yet. I presume we will require swords of the forge. If I use my own blade it will give me an unfair advantage, I am too familiar with the sword and its dynamics to be beaten while I wield it."

"A fair statement, but you also forget the advantage of power it affords you," said Tiberius.

Theodore looked positively delighted at the prospect of Malfoy using one of his swords, even if it was only for a sparring match. It was true that he created all of the swords the Knights carried but he could in no way claim to be their maker. Once the basic shape of the hilts and blades were formed in Theodore's forge, Tiberius always took the partially finished swords to his personal forge to finish them. When he emerged with the finished blades, they were barely recognisable to Theodore. Goblin style metalwork was always heavily reliant on the infusions and use of deep, old magic that Tiberius refused to share the secrets of with any other. The old magic fortified the swords, gave them special and unusual properties and channelled power through the stones set into their hilts, which allowed them to be highly effective against any and every foe, both magical and non-magical, they could possibly meet during their service to the Knights who carried them. Each sword bore unique hilt stones and patterns on their blades which made them almost like wands, they had to be compatible with their bearers otherwise they would not function to their true potential. It worked both ways; if one Knight or Dame were to use another's sword, they would feel a kind of awkward resistance to the magic; almost like trying to write with their left hand. Although the magic would flow, it would be clumsy and riddled with error, which was a less than ideal result. A fully trained Argentum armed with a compatible blade was an intimidating foe; the magical right hand augmented by the power-riddled sword was like fighting both a scorpion and snake simultaneously, both powerful and both deadly.

Theodore carried both the half-finished swords back inside the forge and wrapped them in silk before sliding them into the scabbards that Tiberius had brought with him. Handing them to the Master of Arms, Theodore moved to the storage room just off the main forge. Malfoy, following him bowed to Tiberius as the elder Knight left for his own smithy to tend to both unfinished swords tucked under a large arm. Theodore emerged a few seconds later with his arms full of blades of all different dimensions and sizes. Some were as short as daggers, others as thick as planks of wood. Despite the variety, each one that Malfoy picked up was perfectly balanced and meticulously finished. Not a scratch adorned the blades, the hilts or the handles; although quite plain in design, the swords were all carefully wrapped in leather storage cloths and the metal had been burnished to a shine. Theodore fidgeted amongst his stock before removing two identical blades from the large pile. He handed one to Malfoy who unsheathed it and brandished it elegantly with a flick of his left wrist. Theodore drew the second blade and presented it to Malfoy who grasped the hilt in his right hand. He took a few steps back and twirled the swords in unison. He followed through with a few basic lunge movements before plunging both blades into the wooden floor to test their balance. It was as if the weapons had been cloned from one another; their weight, balance, and flexibility, even their edges were identical which made them perfect for sparring. The weapons were the same, which meant the only advantage sparring partners would have, would be their training and skill levels.

Neither Malfoy nor William had ever used these swords so the unfamiliarity of the weapons further levelled the playing field. Malfoy wanted to keep the competition on an even keel so he purposefully looked to stamp down any advantage he might have over the young and inexperienced Death Eater. It was a testament to Malfoy's fairness and sense of equality, he did not wish to use his own sword; any other Knight would have probably used the challenge as a chance to show off their superiority. Malfoy viewed it as a chance to engage in a friendly competition and have a bit of fun while getting to know someone. William had indeed sparked Malfoy's interest; he was keen for them to be good comrades if not friends. Smiling at Theodore he placed the swords on the adjacent table and said that he had made his choice of weapons for the afternoon. Theodore nodded and picked up the swords to have their edges blunted to prevent serious injury or death during their use. Malfoy followed Theodore outside, bade him farewell and then wandered back over to the courtyard where he met two Knights and a Dame all astride horses, heading over toward him.

They were dressed in travelling cloaks; their boots spattered with mud and armour caked with what looked like blood. Malfoy stopped, saluted them and moved to one side as they passed him and continued beyond the forge, towards the stables. The Dame who was riding between the two men saluted him in return as the two Knights both raised heavily bandaged arms in greeting. None of them spoke and Malfoy did not ask questions; they did not need to, being an Argentum depended entirely on secrecy and discretion. Many of the missions given to the Knights were very rarely discussed outside of briefings because the less people knew of the details the less the chances of unnecessary information leakage. Malfoy continued through the courtyard until he reached a large cattle grid. Crossing it carefully he walked through the field weaving between horses and cows alike before reaching a small hill no more than 10 feet high where he sat down on the grass and looked at the landscape around him. The sunlight dazzled him from every corner of his vision and even reflected off the silver sleeves of his shirt and silver embroidered crest on the chest of his black cotton surcoat. His hand however, seemed to absorb the light and glinted in a darker shade of its usual colour.

The warm breeze tickled his smooth cheeks, as he lay flat on the grass, enjoying the mid-morning sun on his face watching the clouds above sail their way across the azure blue sky. Before long, his stomach was grumbling telling him that it was time for lunch. He stood up, dusted himself down and made his way back towards the courtyard and into the dining hall. As usual, the room was packed with people all eating, laughing and talking loudly. Malfoy took a plate, served himself from the piles of dishes all laid out and sat down alone in a corner to have lunch. A few moments later William shuffled over awkwardly and asked if he could join him. Malfoy smiled and motioned the young man to sit down.

"So William," said Malfoy breaking a loaf of bread in half, "tell me how you managed to join the Death Eaters before the age of seventeen. I didn't realise they inducted so young these days."

"I am not inducted, my lord. I am in training; Yaxley found me, tested me and brought me here to learn how to better serve the Dark Lord."

"Firstly William, I told you not to call me sir or refer to me as your lord. I am Malfoy, or Draco, whichever you prefer to use is fine by me. Secondly, what do you mean by Yaxley found you?"

"Sorry…Malfoy. I keep forgetting that you do not like it. I am just so used to hearing the other Death Eaters use it when they refer to you that it has become an unconscious habit. As for the second question, Yaxley found me on the streets a few months ago. My parents had been killed by the Order of the Phoenix because they were running supplies for the Dark Lord and after they died I had no where to go so I ran the streets for a while. He was on a recruiting mission when he saw me get into a scrap with another kid who insulted my parents. I could have handled it easily myself but my wand was snapped in two so I fought him the old fashioned way. Anyways, let's just say I got a fair beating off the kid before I managed to get one up on him."

Malfoy had been listening with interest and noticed that William spoke with a sense of pride about his fighting skills. This surprised him a little as he did not take William for a violent natured person, arrogant maybe but not malicious.

"So how did you get one up on him?" asked Draco.

"I got my hands on a pipe and clonked him one on the head!" grinned William.

Malfoy laughed loudly as William looked smug and satisfied.

"Good lad!" said Malfoy. "So I take it you're rather good with pipes then?"

"Pipes, swords, it's all the same really. My dad & I used to spar before he was killed. He taught me all about swords and sparring," said William in an offhand tone.

"So if swords and fighting interest you that much then why didn't you apply for membership of the Militis Argentum. Why waste your skills as a Death Eater?" asked Malfoy a little puzzled.

"To be honest, I didn't know that the Argentum Knights were real until I got here. I had heard stories just like every other kid but I thought that they were characters made up by parents to scare us kids into doing what they want. I did not realise that you were a real organisation of assassins doing the bidding of the Dark Lord. Anyway, so when I found out that you all really existed I tried to apply but my application was revoked on grounds of age and that I did not have an Argentum to sponsor my training," replied William.

Malfoy said nothing to this but allowed the boy a few moments to continue eating before asking him another question.

"Are you happy here?"

"Yeah, I suppose so. I get somewhat lonely at times because all the Death Eaters are so boring. They think that they are the Dark Lord's gift to humankind because they have dirty great snakes on their arms and all wear silly little masks. To be honest I feel rather above their pettiness but I guess I do not really have a choice; I have nowhere else to go. Headquarters is my home now."

Again, Malfoy said nothing but silently admired William's frankness. Then again, William spoke as he did because he had nothing to lose, no status, no family, no respect. He truly was at the bottom of the hierarchy and did not care that it was so. The two men finished their lunch in silence and as Malfoy rose to leave the table, he stretched out his right hand to shake William's before speaking.

"See you on the field, William."

William looked at Malfoy's hand a little apprehensively and suddenly became aware that a few of the surrounding tables were whispering and watching their exchange. Not wanting to appear intimidated or weak, William resolutely grasped Malfoy's outstretched hand and shook it firmly. Draco saw the instant flicker of shock that registered in William's eyes at the coldness of his hand but it was immediately masked with a false look of confidence.

"Until 4 o'clock, Argentus."

Draco released William's hand and moved away from the table, out of the dining hall door and back into the courtyard. He walked a little to help digest his food before heading over to the sparring pit to practise and warm up a little. The afternoon sun beat down on the sand as the retained heat rose from the ground up. Malfoy removed his surcoat, silver shirt and sword belt and placed them on the fence surrounding the pit. He rubbed his bare chest with his hands to warm the muscles slightly and then began to stretch out first his arms, his shoulders, his back and then finally his legs. Unsheathing his broadsword with a flourish, he began to lunge, parry and deflect imagined blows from an invisible enemy as he went through the motions of sword techniques he had mastered. As a highly advanced and skilled swordsman, the moves Malfoy used in his warm up became faster and more complicated until his left hand and blade became a glowing blur that circled around his twirling and dodging body. For such a large, thickly built man, Malfoy appeared to move very gracefully and with such finesse that even a blade master would have recognised his advanced level of skill and training.

During his warm up, Malfoy had not noticed the crowds of people that had begun to gather in the stands around the pit. He had not realised how many people were aware of the sparring match and were interested in its outcome. As the stands began to steadily fill with spectators, Malfoy watched William walking out towards the pit accompanied by Theodore who was carrying the swords Draco had selected earlier in the day. As they reached the pit, Malfoy and William shook hands once again before William moved to the opposite end of the circle to begin warming up. After a few moments of stretching, William turned to face Malfoy with an unusually hard expression on his usually kind face. Tiberius had also come to watch the sparring and now stood in the middle of the pit with Theodore who was still carrying the blades. The swords were offered to the two men who accepted them with little bows. Then both Theodore and Tiberius moved out of the wooden circle, as Tiberius' low, loud and clear voice carried out to the hushed crowd positively bursting with excitement.

"Gentleman, you may begin," he said as Draco and William began to circle one another.


	4. An Interesting Reunion

**Disclaimer's Notice: **I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters featuring in the books or the films. They belong to J.K Rowling and her wonderful mind.

**Chapter 4**

Sparks flew as the two men's blunted blades collided with each other again, and again. Neither one seemed to be giving or gaining any substantial ground. Although Malfoy's skill surpassed that of William's, he was being gentle on the young man to give him a fair chance to land a few blows before he finished this little game they were playing. It really was an unfair pairing as Malfoy had eight years of training that William did not; however, as far as raw and basic skill went it would be a lie to say that Malfoy was unimpressed. By no means as precise as Draco with his attacks, William wielded the blade like a natural: his grip was steady and firm, his footwork solid and his strokes well timed. Malfoy found himself pleasantly surprised to be sparring with someone who, after a little much needed training and refinement, could potentially prove to be a good future partner. For the time being though, William was making it far too easy for him to win.

After a solid two rounds of constant parrying and deflecting, Malfoy still had not begun the full assault of his sparring strategy. He truly did want to give William a chance to overpower him but he was growing tired of the constant back and forth of blows; not to mention William was running out of attack combinations. He had exhausted his arsenal of manoeuvres and so Draco decided that there was nothing left for the boy to prove to him. He blocked William's last thrust and feigned a left swipe before switching sword hands and knocking William down by the knees with his sword hilt. He then took two steps forward to administer a mock fatal blow when William rolled over and blocked the strike. He surged forward and aimed for Malfoy's jugular vein but missed as Malfoy rolled back his shoulder and side stepped away from his opponent. Draco laughed aloud as the crowd cheered for William who had just blocked yet another strike. If the crowd wanted a grand finale then Malfoy would oblige with the least humiliation for William as possible. Once again, he feigned an attack from the left but at the last minute instead of knocking William down, he spun towards the right swinging the sword around his head in a smooth motion before placing the middle of the blunt blade flush against the back of William's neck.

"Fatality point to Malfoy," shouted Tiberius over the cheers of the spectators.

William thrust his sword, blade first into the soft sand in front of him. He released the hilt and bowed his head before it.

"William concedes!"

Malfoy removed the sword from William's neck at Tiberius' words and moved so that he was facing him. Extending a hand, he smiled at the younger man who was red-faced and sweating profusely through his cotton-weave shirt. Malfoy's face and bare chest were a little damp from the exertion as well but it was obvious which of the two was in better physical condition. William took his hand and shook it firmly.

"An honourable spar, Malfoy. Although, I do wish you had given the fight your all from the start of the session! I can always tell when someone is going easy on me and you make it especially obvious. I mean look at you! You are barely sweating at all meanwhile I am running Niagara Falls on tap here," said William slightly short of breath.

"Nonsense William! I was giving it my all from the start, you were just too good to beat," replied Malfoy with a broad grin.

"What lies you tell sometimes! Ah well, it was a good match and one day, after I have trained a bit more, I will beat you. That I promise you!"

"I do not doubt it my young friend; you do posses extraordinary skills with a sword and to allow them to go untrained would be a great waste."

The crowd of Death Eaters cheered even louder, while the Knights merely looked stone-faced and serious. William smiled at Malfoy and walked over to the fencing around the sparring arena. He replaced his sword and climbed over the fence. Dozens of Death Eaters rushed towards the young man, clapping him on the back and shaking his hand while Malfoy grinned. As William was led away by his adoring fans, Malfoy returned his sword to Theodore and moved toward his possessions that were still hanging on the fencing of the pit. He reached for his silver shirt and just as he was about to put it back on, he noticed a figure still sitting in the stands. She was dressed the same as him, a silver shirt under a black surcoat embroidered on the chest with the Order's coat of arms in Silver. Her chin rested on the back of her metallic hand as she watched Malfoy with dark green eyes. Her blonde hair shone like slivers of gold in the sunlight and had been pinned back off her face in a practical yet elegant way. Once he recognised who it was, Malfoy felt a rush of adrenaline course through his system.

Her name was Eva Archer.

Malfoy looked away having held her gaze for a few minutes longer than he would have liked. He quickly put on his shirt, picked up his sword and surcoat and began to walk towards the gate. Unfortunately, that meant he was walking towards Eva and he always found himself lost for words whenever she was around him. Taking a deep calming breath, he strode towards her for what would most likely be a short conversation.

"Eva," muttered Malfoy by way of greeting.

"Draco," replied the woman with a raised eyebrow.

She stood from her bench and began to climb down towards him. Malfoy felt his heart rate increase slightly at her approach. As she walked towards him, Malfoy's four-year-old history with Eva Archer flashed through his mind like a series of lightning bolts.

Her scent as she approached him in a rarely used corridor.

The feel of her soft hands as they found their way to his neck and shoulders.

The taste of her lips as she caressed his mouth with her own.

The pulsating desires radiating from both their bodies as he fumbled with the door handle of his quarters.

The weight of her as he lifted her petite frame off the ground in a lustful embrace.

The strength of her legs as she wrapped them around his waist.

The suppleness of her body as she writhed with pleasure beneath him.

The feel of her warm breath in his ear as she begged him to take her over the edge of pure pleasure.

The strength of her fingers as she clawed his back during passionate release.

The bitter taste of rejection when she walked away, choosing a mission over him.

The knowledge that she neither deeply cared for him nor loved him.

The desire he harboured for her still, despite it all.

"I have to admit Malfoy, I was surprised to hear you accepted that little pup's challenge. Have you really been that bored or is this an all time low?" asked Eva coyly.

"I didn't know you were back, Archer. Some warning would have been nice," replied Malfoy quietly.

"Why? So you could 'sort out your feelings' before the next time we met," laughed Eva. "I really didn't expect you to be the 'falling head over heels' kind. It was just a bit of fun," she replied with a hint of a smile. "Plus, I only got back an hour or so ago. The Grand Master and Seneschal wanted to debrief me before I reintegrated into society. Sensitive Intel and all that, you understand."

"I understand perfectly, Archer. If you remember, I too am a Knight and just because I have yet to disappear on a four year mission does not mean I am oblivious to the value of long term Intel," replied Draco sharply.

"Oh Draco! You really are far too easy to wind up you know that?" said Eva as she linked a slender arm through Malfoy's.

Malfoy found the weight of her arm on his oddly comfortable and mentally scolded himself for feeling anything but camaraderie toward a Dame who made it perfectly clear she wanted nothing more from him. He frowned slightly at the grit and pebbles beneath his feet. Was he being foolish by allowing Eva to creep back into his heart? Was it not better for them to maintain professional distance after all that had passed between them? His answer came when he realised he had made no move to remove her hand, which continued to rest lightly on his forearm.

Their conversation continued as they walked and talked for a while before Malfoy began steering them towards the Knights' Tower. When they reached the wooden door of the tower, Eva removed her arm from Malfoy's and stepped in front of him. She threw her hair over her shoulder and placed her un-gloved right hand over the door. As it began to click & release she threw a sly look at Malfoy over her shoulder. He noticed the look but was confused by its meaning and instead chose to ignore it completely. Eva pushed the door open and began to walk towards the staircase. When they reached the third floor Malfoy assumed she would continue on up but Eva moved towards the landing and headed in the direction of his room. When she reached his door, she passed it and kept walking but stopped at the door directly adjacent to his.

"My new quarters," said Eva by way of explanation.

"I see," was all he could say.

The thought of having Eva so close and yet totally out of reach was going to kill him.

She pushed the door ajar and before walking in turned to face Malfoy who was about to enter his own room.

"I'll see you at supper. I need to freshen up from my journey."

"Till supper then," he replied.

Closing his door securely behind him, Malfoy threw his surcoat and sword onto the bed and placed both his hands on the doorframe. He leaned against it heavily and pressed his forehead into the sturdy oak door.

'Get a grip Malfoy. She is back; it was going to happen eventually. Just be a man and deal with it,' he said to himself sternly.

He pushed himself away from the doorframe and made his way over to the armchair and table by the window. He reached to a shelf above the chair and pulled down a small bundle of cleaning equipment. He began his daily ritual of oiling and cleaning his sword before placing it back into its scabbard and hanging it in its usual place. He dumped his dirty surcoat and shirt on the ground and removed his boots and socks. Placing the boots next to his dirty clothes for polishing, Malfoy removed the remainder of his clothing. Heading towards the bathroom, he noticed that it was twilight; the day really had passed quickly. He turned on the shower and found his thoughts drifting back to Eva. Determined not to think about her he began soaping himself down with unnecessary vigour. Scrubbing his hair thoroughly allowed him a few more minutes of clear thinking before he began to rinse himself off. As he stepped out of the shower and reached for his towel, he heard the door to his room click and open. His initial reaction was to drop slightly into a forward attack stance before straightening up again almost immediately; realising it was probably a house-elf come to collect his dirty clothes and sandy boots he smiled to himself at his reaction and began to towel himself dry. After a few minutes he realised he had not heard the door again and after running a comb through his damp hair, he pulled the bathroom door open to investigate.

Sitting in the armchair by the window was no house elf.

It was Eva Archer.

"I thought that you had filled out a bit since I last saw you while you were sparring but the up close and personal view is so much better. I must commend you, you look truly fabulous," said Eva with a smirk.

Malfoy had instinctively reached for his towel, which to his relief, was still tied securely round his waist.

"Well Eva I am a man now, I was a boy when we were last together. It is only natural," replied Malfoy evasively.

"Eau Natural indeed," replied Eva as she stood from the armchair.

She was wearing a white cotton bathrobe and her hair was still damp from a recent shower. The shadows visible in the fold of the robe indicated she was wearing nothing else. Her arms hung loosely at her sides as she padded over to where Malfoy was standing still only in his towel. Archer raised her left hand and ran her index finger down the middle of Malfoy's chest.

"You've grown taller," she said in a soft murmur.

"I have," replied Malfoy standing a little straighter.

"Eva took another step closer; there were now mere centimetres between their two bodies. Malfoy could feel the body heat radiating off Eva and it was tempting him tremendously. He did not know how much longer he could keep his hands stationary. Eva's eyes roved over every inch of Malfoy's exposed body, from his feet, his calves and his knees to his stomach, chest, shoulders, arms and his hands. At last she raised her eyes and looked into his face. Her left hand came up to trace the lines of his jaw and the hair of his chin. She ran her thumb over his thick bottom lip and stroked his nose. She traced his eyes and then followed the hairline down to his ear. She caressed his ear lobe, which caused Malfoy to visibly shudder in anticipation. Malfoy's left hand cupped her cheek as he bent forward to kiss her. Eva tilted her head back and closed her eyes. Just before their lips met Malfoy paused, he could feel her breath coming in hot short bursts against the corner of his mouth.

"Archer," he breathed.

"Malfoy," she responded.

You left me," he muttered. "You left me for a mission that you could have refused, no one would have thought less of you if you had stayed."

Eva opened her eyes to see Malfoy staring down at her. She lowered her chin and placed her left hand on Draco's chest.

"Information is power; that is why I left Malfoy. To learn more so that I could give the Dark Lord more power. Isn't that our goal here, power?"

"That is bullshit and you know it, Archer! You left because of me, because you were scared of how serious I was about you! You were scared that we would become something more important than the Dark Lord and his cause. You still don't get it; I wasn't asking you to give up your loyalty to all this for me. I was asking you to unite your loyalty with mine so we could have been invincible. Can you imagine what we could have become? Unstoppable! Doing the Dark Lord's work with love as well as loyalty to fuel our passions! That is what I wanted for us, but you bolted because you got scared."

Eva stepped away from Draco who had worked himself up into bitterness and hurt during his rant.

"Fuck you and your ideals Malfoy! You always thought bigger than you were," spat Eva as she turned away and began heading for the door.

"ARCHER!" bellowed Malfoy.

Eva opened the door a crack and was about to swing it fully open, when she heard Malfoy shout her name. She turned her head to see him stride toward her in four graceful, long steps. He spun her around, lifted her up to his face and slammed her back into the door, which immediately shut with a thud. Their faces were centimetres apart once more. Eva's legs had automatically circled Malfoy's waist as he lifted her and he was now standing with his chest pressed against hers, hands firmly on the door either side of her head. His eyes blazed with ferocity and resentment.

"That's more like it," said Eva.

She placed both hands on either side of his face and pulled him toward her. Their lips met with such force that Malfoy had to steady himself. He pushed them away from the door and ran his hands up Eva's thighs. She tightened her grip around him as she released his lips and embraced him tightly.

"I've missed you," she whispered into his neck.

"Me too," he said hoarsely.

He wrapped his arms around her slender frame and hugged her close to his chest. Slowly, still wrapped around each other, Malfoy began to walk towards the bed. Eva ran her hands down his back and over his rear. She nibbled at his ear and immediately felt him harden beneath her. Malfoy undid the knot on her robe with one hand and peeled it slowly away to reveal Eva in all her glory bathed in the summer twilight. He stared at her naked front and traced his palm over a white scar shaped like a crescent around her torso.

"This is new," he said quietly.

"Gathering information isn't as safe as some like to think," she replied distantly.

Malfoy lowered her onto the bed and bent to kiss the scar. It was hot against his lips and glistened slightly. As he moved toward her stomach, she giggled audibly.

"Your chin fluff tickles! That's also new," she squealed.

"Fluff!? This is not fluff, Archer. It's a beard thank you very much," said Malfoy in mock outrage.

"It's soft and smooth yes, but it still tickles," she replied sitting up to face him.

They kissed tenderly as Eva's hand went down to unwrap Malfoy's towel. She pulled away as soon as the towel came off and dived under the covers. Malfoy was not far behind her and soon enough had pinned her beneath him.

"All that muscle does seriously weigh a ton, Malfoy!" she laughed. "I don't remember you ever being this heavy!"

"Then allow me to refresh your memory," said Malfoy coyly as he bent down to kiss her again.

As Archer and Malfoy made love over, and over and over again all thoughts of supper were soon forgotten. Twilight passed to reveal a warm summer's night while a gentle breeze tickled the sweet scent of honeysuckle into Malfoy's bedroom. Exhausted after a long awaited reunion Malfoy fell asleep close to dawn completely satiated.

Archer however, waited for Malfoy to fall asleep before quietly removing herself from his embrace, kissing him on the forehead, gathering her bathrobe and leaving with the first rays of sunlight.


	5. The Arena

**Disclaimer's Notice: **I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters featuring in the books or the films. They belong to J.K Rowling and her wonderful mind.

**Chapter 5**

Malfoy awoke in the early afternoon feeling rested and relaxed. He stretched out his arms to find the person responsible for his mood but only found cold sheets and an empty hollow in the duvet where she once was. He opened his eyes groggily and found that Eva Archer was gone. Looking at his bedside clock, he assumed she had gone to her own chambers to shower, change and then eat. Deciding to do the same Malfoy rolled out of bed and padded over to his bathroom. Standing under the warm water made him feel more awake but he still felt a little fuzzy headed. He hated waking up late but last night had been worth it, even if it was a one-time affair. There was no way he was going to allow Eva to manipulate his heart again and now that they had gotten the physical tension out of the way Malfoy assumed things would return to normal; as normal as they had been before the affair had started all those years ago.

Malfoy was walking down the stairs within twenty minutes of waking and had decided to catch the tail end of lunch in the mess hall before beginning his training for the day. He hadn't eaten in almost twenty-four hours and the hunger was becoming unbearable. As he walked across the courtyard and entrance hall, he noticed that there were an abnormally large number of people milling around. It was not unusual for people to wander the grounds while at headquarters but there seemed to be more people on the estate today than there had been all week. Malfoy moved through the groups of Death Eaters and Knights quickly and motivated by his growling stomach he had soon found an empty table and began eating. He had barely finished his third mouthful of lamb chops and mashed potatoes when he noticed William waiting at a polite distance for permission to join his table. Wiping his mouth on a napkin Malfoy beckoned the young man over and stood to greet him. Shaking hands the two of them sat down and Malfoy resumed eating.

"I didn't see you this morning at breakfast Draco; I couldn't possibly have worn you out that much yesterday!" grinned William.

Malfoy laughed and took a swig of wine from his goblet. He speared another lamb chop from the dish in front of him and began eating it.

"You? Wear me out! Please William, I was merely out training this morning which is why I missed the mess hall at breakfast," replied Malfoy easily.

Lying came naturally to Malfoy and this whopper slipped out as easily as all the others before them. While Malfoy normally prided himself on his honesty, he believed that sometimes it was better to lie than reveal personal and intimate details. Last night with Archer had definitely fallen into the category of personal and intimate.

"Come to think of it, I didn't see you at supper last night either," said William.

"You obviously weren't looking that hard then! Probably too embarrassed at having your ass whooped to seek me out I presume," he said with a grin.

William smiled in response and waved his hand dismissively through the air. The truth was that he had sought Malfoy for most of the previous evening but realised from his answers that the Knight didn't want his whereabouts questions too intensely and decided to drop the matter.

"It was a good match though. I underestimated your raw talent William, truly you would be a fine swordsman with the correct instruction," said Malfoy after a few moments silence.

"Thank you. That means a lot coming from someone as accomplished as you," replied William humbly.

"We were all like you once you know, a little wet round the ears with more cockiness than skill but it was soon stomped out of us. Master Thaddeus saw to that!"

"Master Thaddeus?" asked William. "I am not familiar with that name, is he at headquarters?"

"Oh very much so, he is the combat instructor that all Knights learn from during their first two years of training. After that, when you progress from Novice to Apprentice you are assigned to a full titled member of the Order to complete the last year of your training. During your apprenticeship, the Knight or Dame that is assigned to you takes you on as their personal trainee which means that you accompany them on all their missions, train daily if at headquarters and learn the more refined aspects of the job directly from them. Each full-initiate has their own style of teaching which allows an element of individuality to creep into the new recruits," explained Malfoy.

"Individuality? Draco, I am confused, I thought the Order was all about anonymity and uniformity. Surely there is no room for individuality in what you do?"

Draco chuckled softly and pushed his now empty plate away. He leaned back in his chair and raised his goblet to his mouth. He remained silent for a while contemplating on how to best answer William's question. Finally, he spoke:

"We are expected to follow rules, orders and the culture of our society. That doesn't mean we are drones. Part of the skill in what we do comes from our ability to use our own initiative and individual methods to get the job done. For example, if you were asked to kill a target on a specific day how would you do it?"

"I am not sure I understand the question. You are asking what methods I would use or what manner I would adopt when doing the deed?" asked William.

"Well, it's a bit of both. You see, while I have been asked to dispose of my target on a particular day and am given his general whereabouts I have absolutely no idea what situation he will be in, who he will be with or where I will have to finally end his or her life. Suppose he is in the company of a large group of people for the entire day, what should I do? Attack him from a distance with a spell, curse him when he steps away for a moment or slit his throat from behind while the crowds are distracted? However I choose to do it, I must remain anonymous and no one must realise what is happening. I cannot fail no matter the situation."

William mulled over the question for a few moments as he ran his fingers through his hair.

"I see your point Malfoy. You have the skills necessary to complete the job and the knowledge base to give you many options on how to execute the command; but the method and details of the operation are entirely up to you," said William with a look of realisation.

"Exactly," said Malfoy simply. "That is why individuality is encouraged to a degree, it gives each of us a unique manner which we use to assess a situation and do the Dark Lords bidding. It is also one of the fundamental reasons that the Militis Argentum never fails. We are the best at what we do and while we respect life we also have the burden of ending it when necessary."

"But how do you justify it all? How do you sleep at night with all of those deaths marked on your soul? Doesn't it drive you to insanity," asked William.

"The Dark Lord wills it and so it must be done. My friend, when you are part of something so important it does not help to dwell on the morality of your actions. Orders are issued and then they are followed, it is that simple. If I needed to understand why certain things are necessary in this life I would have enlisted in the Death Eaters and become a General instead," said Malfoy.

"I think I see your point," replied William with a sigh.

"If the Militis Argentum appeals to you so much why don't you join?" asked Malfoy with enthusiasm. "You would be an excellent candidate and I would be happy to sponsor your request."

William's eyes widened for an instant but he soon regained his composure and stared down at the floor instead. Malfoy realised that despite the young man's curiosity he had not considered the prospect of joining them. Perhaps he had not known that it was even possible to make such a request. Whatever the reasons for William's silence, Draco decided to press the matter no further and leave him to mull the thoughts over before answering his invitation.

"Think about it Will, it could turn out to be your calling. Rebirth awaits should you choose it," said Malfoy.

He stood up from the table and started moving towards the door. As he passed William's chair he placed a hand on the man's shoulder and squeezed gently. He gave his friend a reassuring smile and then walked out of the room leaving William still at the table turning a silver Sickle round and round in his hands.

The afternoon sun felt warm on Malfoy's face as he walked toward the training arena. His spontaneous decision to invite William to join to Order was rash and unexpected but he had a good feeling about it. The only problem now was waiting to see if the Grand Master would accept his request, the Knights were currently at full capacity and the Order rarely recruited when they didn't have to. William would have to display some exceptional skills and prowess for them to even consider allowing him to train.

As Malfoy entered the arena he saw a few other Knights and Dames scattered around the enclosure. Some were sparring with enchanted mannequins while others were refining spells recently learnt. The Militis Arena had been constructed fairly recently to provide a space where the Knights could practice away from the constant watching eyes of the other people at headquarters. While they did not mind a crowd at a spar, some techniques and spells were preferred to remain unknown and as such needed to be honed in privacy. The space within the Arena was gargantuan; almost 20 times the size of a standard football field there was enough room for every member of the Order to use it at the same time. Impenetrable bubbles could be resurrected to surround an area if one of the Order members were practising with a lethal spell or deadly weapon.

Draco spotted Eva sparring with a Knight twice her size and height. She seemed to be winning nonetheless. He smiled as he watched her; one thing he knew about Archer was although her size created assumptions in the minds of others her skill with a double bladed staff was unparalleled. Even Master Thaddeus had conceded defeat on a few occasions, which was a testament to her capabilities. She moved so fast it looked as if she was barely there at all. Archer's opponent had chosen a pair of Tonfa as his weapons and appeared to be having a hard time landing any serious blows. Malfoy watched them for a while longer and then moved to a space in the middle of the sand covered ground. He stretched his arms out on either side of him and closed his eyes. He soon felt the ground around him vibrate as a bubble the size of a small house emerged from beneath the sand. It was transparent with a golden tinge to its surface. The surface of the bubble began beneath the sand and arched gracefully all around and above him where it merged with a ripple to seal off the outside world. The magical casings absorbed any spells or curses cast and reflected their strength and accuracy back to the person inside using a series of colour gradients. A Knight could tell how powerful or deadly his spell had been when the area hit glowed a particular colour. The most ineffective shone Black while the deadliest caused the surface of the bubble to become opaque and shine with a bright, white light. The most Malfoy had ever achieved had been a pale yellow, which was more than some could boast. Archer had only managed a ruby red the last time they had trained together. Rumour had it that only Lord Voldemort possessed the strength and skill to make the bubble opaque. The Grand Master's record proudly sat at the palest of greys.

Malfoy flicked his wrist toward the edge of the bubble where a bench suddenly appeared. He walked over it, unbuckled his sword from his belt and placed it on top. He then turned away and faced the furthest facet of his enclosure. He spread his legs and wriggled his feet until his boots found a firm hold within the shifting sands. He then allowed his arms to fall at his side as he concentrated on the core of his body. He aligned his hands vertically along the middle of his chest, palms facing opposite directions and lowered his head. He began to stretch his muscles out one by one. Starting with his legs, he did a series of slow and meticulous squats, lunges, extensions and curls. He then moved to his waist, abdomen, back, shoulders, arms, and finally his neck. Each movement was slow, purposeful and methodical. Once he was finished, he resumed his initial position. Focusing on his core once more, he felt the palm of his right hand tingle with the power he had called up. He began his exercises starting with small bursts of power that sounded a deep purple. Average strength and precision was what he always started these sessions with. Master Amadeus always said that magic is like any living thing. If you exhaust it too early it will be of no use when the need for it is great. Taking this lesson to heart, Malfoy began to systematically call up more and more magic for his curses and spells. The last strike resonated a lime green against the bubble. Malfoy lowered his right hand and wiped the sweat from his jaw. He stretched out once more and rolled his shoulders to loosen the tension that had accumulated. Casting a glance towards where Eva had been sparring he saw that she beaten her opponent and was now watching him intently from a bench placed to one side. She winked at him and he raised a hand in reply.

As he turned away, an unexpected image of Hermione Granger appeared unbidden in his mind's eye. He felt a blinding heat sear through his entire body and simultaneously noticed a pressure building in the palm of his silver hand. He dropped to his knees and saw in the corner of his eye that Archer had jumped to her feet. The pressure was like nothing he had ever experienced before; it was almost as if his hand was about to explode. Malfoy's entire body was tingling and he raised his hand to look at the serpent and dagger emblem carved into his palm. It was glowing a fierce, pulsating red; another thing he had never seen before.

A second wave of pressure cascaded through his arm and merged with the first in the palm of his hand. Malfoy felt a surge of power and emotion swell in his chest, a heat in his eyes, and before he knew it, he had raised his right hand toward the bubble, turned his face away and bellowed a curse that he could not remember when asked afterwards. A jet of golden light emitted from his palm and as it made contact with the opposite side of the bubble the entire surface of the sphere glowed white, became opaque and emitted a high frequency ringing that caused all the glass in he arena to shatter. The light lasted a few seconds and when the bubble regained its translucency Malfoy saw the entire population of the Militis Argentum standing around him.

The surface continued to ripple with the after effects of his magic and through the shimmering bubble he saw to his amazement that the Argentum's ranks included the Seneschal, the Grand Master and Lord Voldemort. Many of the Knights were whispering frantically; Archer was standing in the front with her hands over her mouth and her eyes wide with shock. Malfoy shifted his weight slightly and noticed that he was still on his knees. He pushed himself to his feet and felt his legs trembling beneath him. Lord Voldemort was the first to speak.

"Lower your sphere, Malfoy," said the cold high voice.

Draco noticed that the Dark Lord's voice trembled slightly but he did not know if it was from anger, pride or fear. Nevertheless, he did as commanded and then immediately knelt as Voldemort strode towards him with the Grand Master and the Seneschal in tow. Masters Tiberius, Thaddeus and Amadeus followed behind them.

Voldemort stopped in front of Malfoy's bent head and touched him on the shoulder, signalling him to stand up. As he stood, he was careful to keep his eyes lowered so as not to give the impression of impertinence, insolence or equality. It was bad enough that he towered over Voldemort by a good six inches as it was.

"Explain," said Voldemort.

"My Lord, I…I just…I can't! I do not know what happened; I was training and suddenly I felt a great pressure build in my hand," Malfoy raised his silver hand and looked at it intently once more. The serpent and dagger had returned to their natural shade of silver and betrayed nothing of the power they had just unleashed.

"Go on," said Voldemort softly.

"I…I…I just…I don't know, my Lord. All I knew was that if I did not release the pressure my arm would have exploded. I do not even remember consciously using the magic; it just flowed from within me," said Malfoy with his eyes still on his hand.

"Draco, magic like that does not just appear. It must be summoned, shaped before it can be released in such quantities; the ability to do this takes years of study. Did you see anything, or do anything unusual before it happened?" asked the Grand Master.

"No sir, I paused for a few moments to collect my thoughts and saw Archer. We greeted each other from across the arena and as I turned away it just happened. A searing pain through my body and this intense pressure," replied Malfoy looking at Reynard.

"Most interesting," said Voldemort simply. The Dark Lord looked into Malfoy's face and visibly stiffened. "Draco, look at me."

Malfoy obliged and lowered his head so he was eye to eye with Voldemort who raised a finger and pressed it to Malfoy's eyebrow. "Reynard, do you see what I see?"

Malfoy was confused at the question but did not move a muscle. The Grand Master moved to stand beside Voldemort and his eyes widened with shock at what he saw. Before Malfoy could ask why they were looking at him like that, Voldemort spoke.

"His eyes have changed," he muttered.

"Changed, my Lord?" asked Malfoy.

"What colour were your eyes, Malfoy?" asked the Seneschal who was now standing on Voldemort's other side.

"Grey sir, with a slight tinge of blue," said Malfoy.

"Not anymore Malfoy," said the Grand Master in awe. "They have changed colour."

"Changed? I don't understand what you mean," said Malfoy.

"The colour is fading though my Lord, it is returning to its original state," said the Seneschal to Voldemort. "What does this mean? I have never seen it before in all my years of magical use."

Voldemort remained silent but frowned slightly. Malfoy was baffled; how could a person's eyes change colour. He looked over Voldemort's shoulder and saw Master Amadeus staring at him with obvious interest. After a few more moments of silence, the heat behind his eyes faded and Malfoy noticed that his adrenaline rush was giving way to exhaustion. He felt unsteady on his feet and found it a great effort to remain upright. Almost as if Voldemort could sense this change, he looked at the Grand Master meaningfully and then turned away. Both the Grand Master and the Seneschal turned to follow him out. The three Masters of the Order began herding people away and amongst the crowds, Draco saw Archer moving towards him.

"What happened?" she asked him, concern tight in her voice.

"I honestly don't know! One minute I was waving hello and the next, I just couldn't contain it any longer. I felt like I was going to implode or explode or combust or something…I have never felt magic like that before. I almost felt like I had lost control of myself," replied Draco in a cracking voice.

"Swear to me you will never actually lose control," said Archer, a half smile playing at her mouth. "If that's what you're capable of then I don't ever want to see you lose your temper."

Malfoy smiled back at her briefly before nearly collapsing once more. Eva caught him under the arm just before he fell to the sands.

"Okay then, let's get you back to your room. I think you need to lie down before you knock yourself out."

Draco allowed her to lead him staggering across the Arena and out into the evening light. Staggering, they slowly made their way back to the tower that housed the Knights and Dames. Everyone they passed gave them a wide berth, once again proving how fast gossip travelled at headquarters. As the reached the entrance, Malfoy steadied himself against the stone wall as Archer unlocked the wooden door. His head was spinning and his vision began to blur as he staggered once more and vomited onto the gravel at his feet. Archer crinkled her nose at the smell and after Malfoy finished, dragged him up the stairs and into his room. She threw his sword onto the armchair and dropped him neatly onto the bed. She fed him some water and then rolled him onto his back to rest.

She was sitting in the second armchair by the window when Malfoy spoke in a raspy voice.

"Archer, what colour did my eyes turn? Why was everyone so alarmed?"

Eva sighed and closed the book she was reading. She looked over at Malfoy who was breathing deeply with his eyes closed. Had he not spoken she would have assumed he was sleeping. He opened an eye to see why she hadn't replied yet.

Archer met his gaze firmly and saw that his eyes were back to their usual steely colour.

"Draco, your eyes were gold not more than two hours ago. Do you understand that? Your eyes turned from grey to gold in a matter of seconds and then faded back to their original colour moments later. You do know what that means, right?"

Malfoy raised himself up onto his elbows. "You're sure they turned gold."

"It was unmistakable – trust me. They were gold," replied Archer without hesitation.

"That is just a legend," said Malfoy offhandedly.

"But you know what the legend is right; please tell me you know what that means," said Archer rhetorically.

"Yes, I know what it means," said Malfoy solemnly.

"Superus Veneficus," breathed Archer. "Higher Magic."


	6. The Lady of Ithulien

**Disclaimer's Notice: **I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters featuring in the books or the films. They belong to J.K Rowling and her wonderful mind.

**Chapter 6**

Lord Voldemort was not a person given to pacing yet here he was, pacing frantically. Malfoy had just performed Higher Magic, _Superus Veneficus_, something that had only occurred in legend. Voldemort could tell that his pacing was unnerving both the Grand Master and the Seneschal but he didn't care. He needed to think, to decide what to do and how to proceed.

The Grand Master was the one to finally break the silence that had been observed since the three men had entered Voldemort's study almost an hour ago.

"My Lord, please share your thoughts with us. We are confused, what has Malfoy done to warrant such agitation?"

Voldemort took a deep breath and sank into his chair. Gesturing for the two men to sit before him, he linked his long white fingers and began to explain.

"I presume both of you have heard of the legend of Cahir."

Both men frowned slightly and shook their heads; at this, Voldemort continued.

"Cahir was a General in an ancient army who possessed average magical ability, quite common for men of those times. He lived almost two thousand years ago in the land we now call England and was the man tasked to protect the Lady Annwyn, Lady of Ithulien and wife of a warlord whose name has not survived history. Lady Annwyn's husband was a brutal man, a tyrant of sorts, and as such feared retribution for his actions constantly. He assigned his Chief Shieldman and most trusted General the task of protecting, that which was dearest to him, his wife and his son Orisian. When the warlord's enemy eventually invaded his keep, it fell to Cahir to save his master's family from slaughter. Although he was a magically gifted individual, he was by no means, extraordinarily powerful; this is what makes the tale all the more interesting. When the enemy reached the inner chambers and confronted Cahir, witnesses spoke of a magic that seemed to burst forth from him in all his rage, so powerful and so pure in its essence that all within its blast radius were obliterated instantly. After expelling this immense magical force, the men who were fighting with him rushed over to Cahir who was on his knees before the charred mass of bodies; they found him clutching his head in pain. When they looked into his face they saw his eyes blazing a brilliant gold before fading back to their original colour of green."

"But my Lord," interrupted the Seneschal, "how can you know that the magic Malfoy performed was anything similar to what Cahir did all those years ago?"

"The only surviving account of this event specifically mentions Cahir claiming to feel a passionate rage so powerful that it welled up inside him like a great dragon needing to be released just before the magic was cast. He said it felt like every fibre of his very existence was oozing such a concentration of magic that nothing could stop the explosive expulsion that occurred. At any rate, Cahir appeared to be unharmed and his actions saved the lives of the warlord's family," said Voldemort.

"But how can you be sure that Malfoy performed the same type of magic, my Lord? It could have been something that looks similar but is nothing more than a complete fluke. You say there is only one surviving account of the original event. What if it was a manufactured story designed to strike fear into the hearts of the warlord's enemies," asked the Grand Master.

Voldemort considered the question briefly before answering, "I know the account is truthful because it was written by the Lady of Ithulien, herself. She would have no reason to lie or to embellish the story of her survival."

As both the Seneschal and the Grand Master thought this new piece of information through Voldemort stood and walked over to a large bookcase that stood on the opposite side of the room. Tracing his long white fingers over the aged spines and volumes, he finally selected a book with no visible title and made his way back to the desk. Placing the vellum bound volume on the table he opened the cover and placed his fingertips on the first page. The pages glowed green at his touch and for a few seconds the room was bathed in echoes of green. The light soon faded leaving behind endless lines of black writing in a hurried script. Voldemort removed his hand and closed the book to reveal the initials 'T.M.R' on the spine.

"Many years ago, while I was still at Hogwarts, I decided that the lessons taught in the classrooms were of little significance to the larger picture that was to one day become my legacy," said Voldemort. "So I decided to teach myself things that were far more, shall we say useful and relevant, to my goals of the time. Being the diligent student that I was, I recorded every piece of information that interested me in a series of volumes that serve as an account of my magical learning," at this Voldemort gestured to the book before them. "The reason I know Higher Magic exists is because during one of my private research sessions I stumbled across a number of recorded accounts of this type of magic, its power and its consequences. It wasn't until much later that I found Lady Annwyn's story and then it all made sense."

"So Higher Magic has existed all along; it's just that no one has known enough about it to recognise a user when they see one," said Reynard.

"Exactly," replied Voldemort.

"My Lord, if you'll excuse my ignorance, what happened to Cahir after he used Higher Magic. Your story spoke of no consequences or side effects of what he did,' said Robert.

Voldemort shrugged a shoulder, "There was nothing else after that entry. It seemed that the Lady of Ithulien wrote on the subject no more. Having said that, I am sure writings on the matter do exist but until recently I have not seen a need to focus much attention on the subject."

The three men were silent for a while before the Grand Master spoke, "My Lord, what you have told us is all well and good but what do we do with Malfoy now? I am sure he will have questions if not concerns. With his next mission imminent I wonder what course of action would be the wisest considering all that has happened."

"I would not presume to know what he will face as a result of using Higher Magic but for the time being let's keep him at headquarters. Delay his mission by a few months; allow us some time to study the after effects and see what changes occur, if any at all! Tell him the delay is due to some new intelligence we've received about Potter's movements, or something in the same vein. I know Malfoy Reynard, and he would not question a command even if he did have questions." Voldemort rose from his chair, "And that will be all gentleman; leave me, I have work to do."

The Seneschal and the Grand Master nodded, stood, bowed and then left. As they closed the door behind them and walked towards the grand staircase, a great hum of conversation reached their ears.

"The masses will be talking about this for weeks," grumbled Reynard.

"They will look to their Grand Master for support," replied Robert.

"Yes, they will and I must be frank; I have no idea how to handle this!" replied Reynard.

"You are the Grand Master, Reynard. I shall take my lead from you, as always. Should you choose to know my opinion, I would advise discretion and prudence. We still do not know what all this really means and to betray that ignorance could start a chain of events that could shatter people's faith in the Order." With that, Robert inclined his head and set off for the library.

Reynard sighed heavily and set off for the dining hall. He knew that no matter the outcome, it was going to be a long day.


	7. And So It Begins

**Disclaimer's Notice: **I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters featuring in the books or the films. They belong to J.K Rowling and her wonderful mind.

**Chapter 7**

Running always made everything better. When all else made no sense, pounding out 5 miles on a dirt track focused the mind and provided answers that did. Malfoy was and always would be a runner. Many months had passed and in those months, much had happened. Malfoy had celebrated his 25th birthday, his mission departure date had been set, Archer had decided to stay at headquarters and William, having turned 17 had been accepted into the Militis Argentum; he was currently serving his eighth month as a Novice. Oh, and Malfoy was still not dead, insane, unstable or sick.

Since that surreal day in the arena almost 9 months ago, Malfoy hadn't had even the slightest inclination or indication that Higher Magic would once more erupt from his very being. In fact, he had felt nothing remotely out of the ordinary at all. Nevertheless, he had obeyed Voldemort's orders and delayed his mission until the Dark Lord saw fit to release him from headquarters. He had spent the last 9 months in intensive training both physical and magical. The upside of his extended stay was that the extra time at headquarters allowed Draco to hammer out the finer details of how he was going to accomplish what was being asked of him. While the mission was still secret on a need to know basis he had managed to secure authorisation to discuss the details with Archer. Authorisation that had only been given because she had more experience with long term Intel and the Grand Master felt it was wise to seek council; anything to minimise the risk of failure.

Malfoy had been surprised to discover that Archer had no problems with using Hermione Granger to get to Harry Potter. She had referred to Hermione as 'collateral damage for the greater good'. While Malfoy did not entirely agree with her views he valued her input and as such they discussed the mission in detail often talking late into the night. Unfortunately, William who had only received his Silver Hand two months earlier was still a Novice and could know nothing of what was planned. This bothered Malfoy as he hoped to become William's mentor in eighteen months after the trials. With a long-term mission coming up though, he wasn't sure if he'd be around when William became an Apprentice.

As Draco passed the last mile marker on the track, he slowed his pace and began his cool down jog. His heart was pounding in his chest and droplets of sweat constantly blurred his vision yet still he ploughed on. Today had been an especially frustrating day and Malfoy had a little extra anger to fuel his exercise. He had spent all morning with the Healers and the Seneschal undergoing medical tests and questions. No, he was not feeling unwell. Yes, he had been pushing himself at any and every opportunity. No, he had not felt extraordinary amounts of magic while practising in the arena. Yes, he was sleeping all right. No, his eyes hadn't changed colour again. Yes, he would make sure to notify them if anything changed at all. They seemed to be paranoid that he was going to spontaneously combust or something of that nature. All Malfoy wanted right now was to be released so he could put all this training to good use; he felt restless and useless and he did not like it.

He heard gravel crunching beneath his feet and saw that he had run out of dirt track. Six miles instead of the usual five; how was that for pushing himself! Walking over to the Knights' Quarters he spotted William in the pit sparring with Master Thaddeus. Master Tiberius was in the stands watching. He decided to take a small detour and watch.

"No boy, NO! Stop using your head and just allow the motions to flow," yelled Thaddeus.

Their swords clashed in mid-air. "Yes! Good block, Orsino. Use your feet. You're dropping your guard again," coached Thaddeus as they moved.

Draco noticed that William was still finding it awkward using his left hand as his primary grip. He remembered how long it had taken him to stop relying on his right hand for sparring and smiled. So many new changes and new experiences but despite it all William was faring better than Malfoy had under the same circumstances. While Draco was naturally left-handed, he had developed and favoured a double-handed sword grip before joining the Order. Master Thaddeus had a hard time getting him out of that habit but poor William was right-handed from the start so he was struggling even more. Thaddeus swung round and caught William under the arm with his blunted sword. William conceded the fatality point and rose from his attack stance.

William looked frustrated and angry; an expression that Malfoy was unused to seeing on the young Novice's face. Thaddeus had his arm on William's shoulder and the two men appeared to be in conversation. William's eyes were on the sand but he still appeared to be listening attentively. As they approached the gate Draco raised a hand in salute. The two men returned the greeting but before they reached the fencing Thaddeus was called over by Tiberius. William continued towards Draco and they shook hands.

"You're doing well," said Draco.

"That's what Master Thaddeus says but I find the progress slow and frustrating," replied William.

"The Grand Master once told me that slow progress is lasting progress. Don't worry! You'll get there in the end. Just remember that we all started somewhere and it has taken us all years to become what we are today," said Malfoy kindly.

William shrugged his shoulders and picked up his surcoat and shirt. Throwing it over his shoulder, he noticed Draco looking at him with a small smile. Feeling the urge to vent his frustrations he snapped, "What're you looking at?"

Malfoy's smile widened, he pointed at William's white surcoat and shirt. "I was just remembering how obvious I looked when I was the one wearing white in a sea of black and silver. I felt so out of place; I stood out when all I wanted to do was fit in."

William merely shrugged his shoulder once more and continued trudging toward the Knights' Quarters. "Where have you been these last few weeks, Draco? I barely see you around anymore; you don't come to mess & you rarely spar in the pit."

Malfoy smiled to himself, "So you're keeping tabs on me now, Orsino?"

"William looked a little alarmed, "No Sir, I was just curious because every time I've looked for you I haven't been able to find you."

"Unfortunately, William, I cannot tell you where I have been or why I haven't been at mess. As a Novice in training you don't have the necessary security clearance for me to divulge details but rest assured that I am fine and all is well. When you become a Knight you will understand that sometimes training and mission preparation take you away from what you'd rather be doing!"

William smiled at that, "So you're saying you'd rather be scoffing meals with me & playing in the pit than getting ready for this top-secret mission?"

Malfoy snorted, "I don't scoff! I consume!"

William laughed at this and replied sarcastically, "Of course you do!"

Malfoy jovially punched William in the shoulder and then threw an arm around the young man's shoulders. They began to mock fight dodging over-exaggerated punches and blocking each other's playful attempts at fatality hits. Just they reached the wooden door Malfoy spotted Archer hurrying towards them.

"Draco, the Grand Master has summoned us to a meeting in the library. He said it was urgent, you'd better hurry!"

William looked at Archer quizzically, "She knows about the mission?"

Draco had already begun walking towards Eva and called back over his shoulder, "Put the mission out of your mind William, it does not concern you nor is it for you to investigate. Focus on your training! I'll see you at mess, later."

Archer met Malfoy's stare with a raised eyebrow, "You told the boy about your mission? Did the Grand Master not say that it was to remain a secret of the highest priority?"

"Calm yourself Archer; I have given him no details. William has noticed my continued absence over the last few months and was merely enquiring where I had been. I mentioned I was training for an upcoming mission and that was it. I am aware of the Grand Master's orders and I would remind you that you are only a part of this because I obtained clearance for you."

"My, my, aren't we touchy! I did always find your little tantrums oh-so-very sexy! I think it's the way your bottom lip sticks out when you're in a strop; or maybe it's the way you set your jaw when you're angry," said Archer as she ran her hand down Malfoy's back.

"Draco stopped in his tracks, turned around and took hold of Eva's wrist, "Very funny Archer, but playtime is over. I think you need to learn a lesson in appropriate behaviour. Do you want everyone to find out what we've really been doing in the library so late every night!"

"So what if everyone knows! It's not as if we are forbidden from each other, and you are mine after all so why do you care if people start to see what they are already suspecting. It's not as if anyone else is worthy of either of us!"

"I belong to no one Archer, and if it's all the same to you I'd rather keep my personal life out of the gossip mill at headquarters thank you very much! As for worth, the reason you & I have no long term future is because you seem to believe you are better than everyone else. We are all born the same; it is our actions and achievements that define us as better than others. When you understand that, then and only then can you preach self-worth to me."

Archer gave Malfoy a look of pure venom before turning on her heel and stomping off toward the main staircase. Draco sighed, ran his fingers through his hair and continued after. He really shouldn't have lost his temper with Archer but he found her constant arrogance highly irritating. She was obsessed with this idea of superiority and it drove him mad! The truth was that he had been trying to distance himself from Archer for months now; ever since he realised that she had not changed one bit in the years she had been away he realised that their 'relationship' had no future. The only problem was that being involved with the mission meant that they had to spend time together and Archer was very persuasive about turning work into play. It would be a lie to say he hadn't enjoyed the physical side of being with Archer but beyond the immediate satisfaction he was slowly realising that he really had no deeper feelings left for her.

They had reached the library entrance; Archer knocked and the doors swung open. Standing at one of the map tables were Lord Voldemort, The Grand Master and the Seneschal. Upon seeing the Dark Lord, both Malfoy and Archer sank down on one knee. Voldemort's high cold voice commanded them to stand and approach the table. As they reached the three men, Malfoy caught a glimpse of the chart on the table; it appeared to be a map of a highly mountainous region somewhere in the north of England.

"Malfoy, you are summoned here today to assess the levels of preparation you have completed for this mission. We need to know how close you are to being ready," asked the Grand Master.

Malfoy took a deep breath before speaking, "I am ready, _Dominus._"

The Seneschal looked Archer expectantly; she met his eyes and stepped slightly forward, "I can vouch for and verify his words; we have completed all aspects of planning and physically he is ready. No evidence of Higher Magic in nine months and he is stronger than he has ever been before; I believe him to be fully fit and sound of mind for the task at hand."

Hearing Archer speak unexpectedly Malfoy looked at her over his shoulder. Meeting her gaze it suddenly hit him; Archer hadn't been helping him at all. She had been keeping an eye on him. She had allowed herself to be used by the Grand Master, the Seneschal and Lord Voldemort as a spy against one of her own. Though the realisation angered him, Malfoy knew that this was not the time, nor the place to start asking questions. He ignored the rising rage in his chest and turned back to the three leaders in front of him.

"Then it is settled," said Lord Voldemort. "Dame Archer has already filled us in on the exact details of your plan, Malfoy. I must say, some parts of it are a true stroke of genius! You will be given as much time as you need to complete the task however, if you are not back within eighteen months we will assume you have failed, the mission compromised and the Order shall move against Harry Potter in full force regardless of the consequences or casualties. You are to leave this evening for the North & it is my greatest hope to see you back here before me within a year and a half. May your loyalty be unwavering, you commitment be true and your training serve you well."

Malfoy looked at each of the men in turn, inclined his head and then turned to leave the room. Before he left the Seneschal handed him a roll of parchment. It was a map to the approximate location of Harry Potter's stronghold. He acknowledged the Seneschal and then left the library. Archer bowed deeply and followed him out. Once the library doors had shut and they were halfway down the stairs Malfoy wheeled around, grabbed Eva by the shoulders and thrust her against the wall. His whole body was rigid with anger; Eva merely sighed and looked Malfoy straight in the eyes.

"You act like I have betrayed you, Draco. Are you really so naïve to think that the Masters and the Dark Lord would allow you to continue without supervision after what happened nine months ago? They wanted to make sure you were up to the task and fit to complete this mission."

Malfoy was so enraged he could not speak. He released Archer & stepped away from her. Not trusting himself to speak he resumed descending the staircase. After a few steps he heard Archer following him down the stairs, across the courtyard and into the Knights' Quarters. Although he never turned around the see if she was following he knew that she was always just a few paces behind. He entered his quarters and rested his forehead against the closed door.

Archer had been spying on him all along; Archer had been reporting back to Lord Voldemort for nine months. Had their intimacy come as a direct order from Voldemort? Had Archer been commanded to engage him in a physical relationship? These questions and hundreds more began swirling through his mind. After what seemed like an age Malfoy raised his head and sighed. Looking out of the window he saw that it was nearing the evening; he needed to begin his final preparations before leaving for Potter's stronghold.

The first phase of the mission hinged entirely on his ability to convince Harry and the rest of the Order of the Phoenix that he had deserted and fled Lord Voldemort's army. In order to convince them of this he could not afford to make it look like he had planned to leave but rather had been forced to flee with haste. Having showered, changed and armed himself Malfoy sat at the edge of his bed. He reached beneath the bedframe and removed his wand from a box kept there. He turned it over in his hands, before sheathing it in its hidden holster at the base of his spine; Knights were supposed to have no need of wands after receiving their Silver Hands but Malfoy still carried his with him at all times as a precaution. He replaced the box, adjusted the chained clasp of his mantle before putting his gloves on, standing up and opening the door. To his surprise he met William on the other side about to knock. William's eyed flicked over Malfoy's unmarked surcoat, his travelling mantle secured with a silver embossed chain and his sword.

"Are you leaving headquarters?"

"Yes William, I am sorry but we're going to have to reschedule our mess appointment. I have been commanded to leave tonight for my mission," said Draco as he moved out of his room and locked the door behind him.

"Oh! Alright then, well, travel safely and I look forward to your return," said William with an outstretched hand and a half smile.

Malfoy grasped his forearm in farewell and said softly, "William, you should know that I will be gone a long time and I may not return. If that happens I want to you to know that I will always wish you the best. You are a very gifted Novice; heed the lessons of your Masters, practice diligently and if all goes well we shall be Knights in arms very soon!" Malfoy clapped William on the shoulder and made to leave the corridor. Just as he was about to round the corner William called out to him.

"Draco Malfoy! We shall one day become Knights in arms but you are already my brother in arms. Return safely so that I have the opportunity to beat you in the pit."

Malfoy smiled at William, saluted him and then turned to leave. As he descended the stairs he heard footsteps behind him. Turning to see who it was he saw Archer. His expression immediately hardened and his muscles went rigid. She continued to descend the stairs one at a time all the while staring at Malfoy in the eyes.

As she passed him she called over her shoulder, "I'll meet you in the courtyard. It's time."

Malfoy stepped into the evening twilight of the courtyard and looked into the sky. He heard the whinny of his horse and as he looked towards it he saw Archer holding the reins with her sword unsheathed. She led the horse to the where Malfoy was standing and looped its reins around a wooden post. Patting its neck she turned around and laid the blade of her sword across her shoulder.

"You know what has to happen next, and I am sorry that after all you have discovered that it still has to be me. I am the only person who has the appropriate clearance to know why this is so necessary; and don't forget this was your idea so don't you leave here thinking this is how I wanted us to part."

Malfoy looked at Archer sternly and lowered himself onto his knees, "Just shut up and get on with it," he said tightly.

Archer sighed and nodded, "I cannot afford to be gentle, you know that; are you ready?"

Malfoy nodded and gritted his teeth for what he knew was coming.

"I'm sorry, Malfoy; really and truly I am," said Archer as she raised her right hand.

Malfoy closed his eyes and took a deep breath in. Behind his closed lids he saw a flash of light and then felt a searing heat across his cheek. Warmth began to spread down his face and into the corner of his mouth. He winced in pain but did not move. The strikes continued to come and no matter how hard he tried to show no pain he began to grunt with each subsequent blow. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity the lights ceased and all he was left with was blinding pain and the feeling of flowing blood over various parts of his torso, face and arms. He opened his eyed to see Archer looking at him, a concerned expression on her face. He met her gaze with equal intensity and made to stand up; a little unsteady on his feet after the pounding he had just received he stumbled slightly but managed to right himself before Archer to grab hold of his arm. He moved it out of the way and rolled his shoulders. Despite the pain he had just endured what was to come would be far, far worse and Malfoy knew it. Archer raised her sword and approached him.

"Don't move," was all she said as she took aim and thrust her sword between his ribs. They had worked out the angles to the tiniest variations so that the sword would penetrate deep enough to look like an intended fatality hit but not sever any arteries or major blood vessels. As the sword penetrated his flesh Malfoy slumped forward against Archer and cried out in pain. He couldn't help himself; it felt worse than anything he'd ever experienced before. Archer's face was wet with tears against his neck; she kissed him softly under his ear and then pulled out her sword. Flicking the blood off the blade she saw Malfoy stumble to one side of the fencing. Ignoring him, she went over to the horse and untied it. Leading his mount to him, she shoved the reins into his hand, sheathed her sword and stepped away.

"Go, and do not fail!"

Malfoy took a few more moments to gather himself, and then swung into the saddle. He gathered his reins and spurred his horse into a gallop. Tearing down the track that led to the North he began to see spots in front of his eyes. Clasping his wound he felt blood spurt out at every stride the horse took. Applying pressure with the palm of his hand he inhaled deeply and steeled himself for the three day long journey. His only hope was that he wouldn't bleed out before he reached the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix.


	8. Arrival at Phoenix HQ

**Disclaimer's Notice: **I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters featuring in the books or the films. They belong to J.K Rowling and her wonderful mind.

**Chapter 8**

The past four days had been murder on Malfoy's system. Constant riding, long days and uncomfortable nights had done nothing to lessen the pain of his injuries. While the cuts, bruises and grazes from Archer's spells were healing fine, the stab wound in his side had gotten slightly worse. As the cut was so deep, the wound seemed unable to close itself and heal naturally. Each night, a small scab would form and every morning it would reopen with a fresh wave of blood the minute Malfoy mounted his horse. Despite his best estimates on when he would reach Potter's stronghold, Malfoy was still half a day's ride away. The journey had begun to take its toll and although Malfoy knew he needed to arrive badly injured he was tempted constantly to use magic and heal himself. It was a true testament to his self-discipline that he had managed to refrain from doing so for so long already.

By late afternoon on the fourth day Malfoy had reached the boundaries of where the Militis suspected Harry's fortress to be. Having full awareness of the fact that Malfoy was now entering very hostile enemy territory did nothing to help his current situation; despite the fact that he was seeking asylum he knew that he would need to be on full guard until he encountered any of Harry's people. As his horse crested the last hill, Malfoy stood in the saddle and surveyed the rolling landscape before him. The warm May breeze tickled his face as he narrowed his eyes against the sunlight. He could see nothing but that did not surprise him, Harry was bound to have placed all sorts of enchantments and deterrents around his perimeter. No, he would not be able to see the fortress with his own eyes; what he was looking for however, were small disturbances in the air that would look almost blurry when focused upon. These small irregularities around him would indicate where the charms began and how strongly they were present.

After looking for a while Malfoy spotted an arc of shimmering air in the far distance to the East. Guessing that it might be the start of the Harry's magical perimeter, Malfoy braced himself and spurred his horse into movement toward it. The rocking motions in the saddle once more sent shocks of searing aggravation through Draco's abdomen; he did not know how much longer he could bear it. He was just grateful that he had made it this far! As his horse approached the base of the hill Malfoy purposefully relaxed his seat and began to slump forward slightly in the saddle. While this made riding even more uncomfortable he needed to show weakness and physical exhaustion to any hidden sentries that might have already spotted him. Loosening his grip on the reins, Malfoy gave the horse his head and merely pointed him in the general direction of the magical disturbance he had spotted. Allowing the horse to amble its way through was, by no means, the most efficient way to progress but hopefully, the scattered random movements of an animal with no guidance would make his arrival look all the more coincidental.

Before long, just as the sun was setting, Malfoy's horse came to a halt. Raising his head purposely sluggishly Malfoy saw that they had approached the arc. He forced a cough and began to lean to one side of the horse. Within a few seconds he had reached an acceptable angle; allowing his knees to loosen their grip Malfoy fell from the saddle and thudded to the ground. Groaning loudly he rolled over slightly exposing his stab wound to the sky. Within mere moments he heard rustling from somewhere behind him. Feigning exhaustion he allowed his eye-lids to flutter enough to see three burly looking wizards, wands outstretched, approach him cautiously. He then sighed and let his body go limp; although still very much awake and aware, to the sentries it appeared as if he had passed out.

"What's this then," said the man to his left in a thick Irish accent.

"Be careful, Seamus! He might be faking it," said the man to his right.

"Relax Ron, judging by the amount of blood he's lost I don't think he's a threat to anyone," said the man called Seamus.

From a little distance away the third man's voice came towards them, "His horse is unbranded and there's no emblem on his saddle-cloth. Any idea who he is?"

Malfoy heard Ron move a little closer and stop a few feet away from his head. "Justin, bring the horse here will you. Let's see if something comes out of his saddlebags."

The man named Justin reached out for the horse's reins and led the animal to where the rest of them were standing. "There's nothing in here, Ron. Just some bandages, a few fire-rocks and some dried meat. Pretty standard stuff, if you ask me."

"We ought to take him to Wood and see if we can figure out who he is and what he is doing so far North," said Seamus.

Ron crouched down above Malfoy's face and tilted his face towards him. He gasped and backed away suddenly raising his wand, "No need boys, who we have here is none other than Draco Malfoy!"

"Well I never! I thought he was killed back in school!" said Seamus.

"We all did! After he failed to kill Dumbledore no one ever heard from or saw him again," replied Justin.

Ron scoffed at this, "Catch Lucius Malfoy letting his precious little bundle get hurt. Of course, Daddy was always there to protect him, even from his own side."

The other two laughed viciously. "He doesn't look so little or precious anymore though, Ron. Look at the size of him! He's bigger than even you and must weigh at least 250 with all that muscle," said Justin.

"When you've quite finished ogling at him Justin, you can help me chuck him back on his horse and get him inside. Seamus, you carry on ahead and send a message to Harry that we found Malfoy passed out by the perimeter. Justin and I will take him to Wood for questioning," said Ron in a voice of authority.

"Right you are," said Seamus hurrying away.

"Shouldn't we get him to Medicus first? That wound looks quite bad and not a little infected; we don't want him dying before he can tell us what he's doing here," said Justin.

"I agree but we'll leave that for Harry to decide, he can always get a Healer into the dungeons if it's that necessary," replied Ron.

"C'mon then, grab him on three. One…two…THREE!"

The boys heaved Malfoy up off the ground and dropped him heavily, horizontally across his saddle. Malfoy involuntarily groaned in pain; the pommel of his saddle had caught him right on the ribs which caused a fresh wave of blood to come spurting out of Archer's parting gift.

"Eugh! He's bleeding everywhere Ron! We might need that Healer sooner than we thought," said Justin.

"Hurry up then before he regains consciousness," replied Ron.

With that the two men, leading Malfoy and his horse between them, passed through the barrier and started up a previously invisible pathway. Malfoy felt a tingling sensation as he crossed over the magical boundary. Opening his eyes a fraction he surveyed the scene in front of him. A huge castle, almost the size of Hogwarts loomed ahead of them. It had four prominent wings with two tall towers at either side. On the farthest end of the castle, Malfoy spotted what looked like a platform protruding out towards the sea above which he could see a large gold flag flying embossed with the silhouette of a Phoenix in flight. The grounds were expansive, wildly overgrown heaths of lavender and bottle-brush; a river snaking through them. Thistle bushes crept out from under almost every rock and deer grazed freely upon them. Malfoy also spotted a moat with a drawbridge but saw no water within it. He wondered if it contained enchantments far more treacherous than water to keep invaders out; but that was something to wonder about another time. For now, all he had to do was follow his plans if he wanted to remain alive long enough to find out. He closed his eyes once more and focused on slowing his breathing to appear unconscious.

Before long, the sounds of movement changed from gentle thuds of grass to the rattle of wooden planks. Hearing this, Malfoy assumed they were crossing the drawbridge into the inner courtyard. Once through the gate the sounds beneath his horse's feet again changed, this time to the sharp raps of cobbled stone. They began to veer to the left where the horse was halted before what felt like a very windy corridor. Malfoy felt many pairs of hands lift him from the horse's back and carry him through the windy corridor and down a steep flight of steps. The smells changed the further they descended from sweet salty sea air to dank, musty and slimy wafts of stale air blown around by a cold breeze. The creaking swing of a door being opened prompted another rehearsed groan from Malfoy. He felt himself being laid down on a cold, hard stone floor before having his eyes jolted open by a bucket of water being emptied on his face. He coughed and sputtered in earnest as his hands flew up to wipe the excess water away.

Opening his eyes he looked around the room in mock bewilderment and confusion. He allowed a small amount of fear to cross his face when he caught sight of the six men in the cell with him. Looking at the doorway last, he spotted an untidy crop of short black hair, green eyes and lastly the infamous lightening shaped scar. Malfoy felt his Silver Hand begin to pulsate slightly at the sight of his target.

'_Patience, Draco'_ whispered his insides, _'soon enough you will have your chance.'_

Behind Harry stood the hulking form of Gryffindor's ex-keeper, Oliver Wood. He appeared to be wearing armour of leather around his chest, a golden Phoenix emblazoned across the centre. A sheathed broadsword hung loosely by his side, his fists clenched in readiness to make a move.

"Hello Malfoy," said Harry, his voice dripping with venom. "What brings you to our isolated albeit beautiful castle? Got a little lost did we?"

Malfoy took a deep breath and steeled himself; the greatest act of his life was about to begin.

"Water," gasped Draco.

Harry flicked his wrist towards Malfoy and one of the six men in the room threw a flask at Malfoy's feet. Draco gulped down half the bottle greedily and then made an attempt to stand up; from the moment he began to lean forward all six men had their wands pointed at him. It took a great genuine effort for Malfoy to get to his knees and an even greater haul to stand on his feet. The exertion of it left him with fuzzy vision and a head-rush. He took a few moments to steady himself and then once he had straightened to his full, considerable height and stature he spoke.

"I have left the services of Lord Voldemort in search of a calling more fulfilling. I wish to help you defeat him."

The room was silent for a few seconds after that and then almost as if a dam had burst, Harry began to laugh, "That, Draco Malfoy, is the stupidest and oldest trick in the book. Do you really think I am such a fool to fall for the old 'I have changed my ways', ploy? You were born evil, you have served evil and now, I'm afraid you will die evil." Harry nodded to his men and turned to leave the room as one of the six approached Malfoy with his wand outstretched.

"Wait! Harry, please! I beg you, just listen to me."

Harry stopped dead in his tracks, "Interesting, Malfoy begs! That I thought I would never see; let's hear it then."

"It is true what you say, I was born evil and I have served evil but evil has taken all that was good from me. If you kill me now you will never learn what I know and all this will have been for nothing. If you wish for my death after I have told you what I know, I shall gladly accept it but before you give the command, learn from me. That way, even in my death I can be useful to the cause that I now pledge my life to."

Harry chuckled, "What good could have possibly existed in your life that, when lost, made you turn from all that you believe in?"

'_Time to deal out the sob story, focus Malfoy,'_ said Draco to himself.

"A woman; she was taken from me by Voldemort to ensure I would suffer no…distractions, during my training," said Malfoy in mock anguish. "SHE WAS TAKEN FROM ME, KILLED FOR NOTHING!"

Harry's eyebrows shot up in surprise at Malfoy's words. "You had a woman who was taken from you? You expect me to believe that any woman could ever love you, Malfoy? Or that the death of one you loved is enough to make a monster like you feel something?"

"Have you never loved, Potter? Loved or been loved so deeply that it tore up your soul even considering the possibility of existing without it," asked Malfoy quietly.

'_Provoke him, that's it – make him empathise.'_

In one swift movement Harry spun around, unsheathed Wood's sword and pressed its tip into Malfoy's throat. He spoke with narrowed eyes, the pain tangible in his words: "Do not speak to me of love, Malfoy. You have no idea what I have lost to this cause. My dedication has been tested time and time again, yet here I still stand committed to what I have been fighting for these past eight years. What makes you think that I would believe someone so easily strayed from their own beliefs; and to believe that someone wouldn't do the same again if asked or given cause to?"

'_Oh Potter, your rage is so predictable,'_ thought Malfoy.

"I do not know what you have lost Harry, but if it is even an iota of what was taken from me then you will understand how much something like that can shake your faith in what you so blindly believed in before," replied Malfoy, his neck arched away from the blade.

"LIAR! How could you not know what I have lost? It was your kind that took them from me! Your bloody Death Eaters that ripped my wife and son from my arms and slaughtered them in front of my eyes while I was powerless to stop them," roared Harry pressing the sword further into the nape of Malfoy's neck.

'_Good Potter, very good. Give into the anger, the resentment, let it consume you.'_

Draco extended both his arms out on either side of his body, "Harry, look at my robes, my sword, my mantle; I am not a Death Eater. They kill indiscriminately without thought or discipline. They succumb to their bloodlust whenever it suits them with no training or control. I am Miles Militis et Argentum Manus; perhaps you have heard of them? The Most Noble Order of the Knights of the Silver Hand, assassins of the Dark Lord. It may have been the servants of Voldemort who killed your family but I was never counted among that rabble. Knights are autonomous for the most part, they not _slaughter_ in any capacity. They execute cleanly and quietly," replied Malfoy with exaggerated disgust etched in his voice. Leaning into the blade, Malfoy felt its tip prick his skin. A droplet of blood dripped down his neck into the collar of his silver shirt staining it red. "Remove the glove from my right hand if you doubt the truth in what I say."

Harry removed the sword from Malfoy's neck a fraction and raised an interested eyebrow. Looking at one of the men standing to Draco's right, he inclined his head. The man approached cautiously; sheathing his wand he grasped Malfoy's forearm and pushed up the sleeve of his mantle and shirt. Pulling the glove off with one hand he gasped when it revealed what was underneath. Releasing his grip almost immediately he moved back to his position, eyes fixed on the glistening, steely hand. The entire room erupted in nervous whispers as Malfoy flexed his fingers, raised his hand to shoulder height and turned his palm to face Harry. In the dim light of the dungeon cell the crest on his palm pulsated with blue and purple hues of magic and power.

'_That's it; allow your curiosity to cloud your judgement. You've never met an Argentum Knight before have you, you stupid fool!"_

"So the rumours are true, you do exist. We have heard stories of assassins sent out by Voldemort to execute targets too valuable to be left to the Death Eaters. You are precision killers with years and years of organised training who rely on stealth and discretion to accomplish whatever the madman asks of you. But an actual _order_ of assassins…how is that even possible," said Harry, more to himself than anyone else.

'_C'mon Harry, put two and two together. Use some of that famed intelligence, accuse me!'_

Harry as if commanded by Malfoy's inner thoughts suddenly pressed the sword into Draco's throat once more and narrowed his eyes to slits, "If you are Militis Argentum then surely you have come here to kill me!"

'_There we go, well done Harry! You got there in the end. Lord, this is just too easy!'_

"If I really had come to end you, Harry Potter, rest assured we would not be having this conversation in any capacity. I am sorry that your family was taken from you; I am sorry that you have suffered so much at the hands of Voldemort's lunacy. All I came here to ask was if you'd allow me to right some of those wrongs and help you end it once and for all."

Harry looked into Malfoy's eyes for a long time before he spoke again. He looked Draco up and down more than a few times, taking in for the first time the condition in which he had arrived at their doorstep. The wound in his ribs appeared to have temporarily crusted over but the stain of blood showed that it must have been a grievous injury to begin with. Looking at the cuts, abrasions, state of his uniform and general demeanour Harry deduced that Malfoy had not left without a struggle.

"How did you come to leave Voldemort's stronghold and how did you know where to find us," he finally asked.

Malfoy was in earnest dizzied by all the adrenaline coursing through his system and that combined with the amount of blood he had lost made him stumble slightly before answering, "I left after I could not perform a…a…a particular kind of duty that was asked of me. Contrary to your obvious opinions I do have a conscience and that conscience does not allow me to inflict any harm upon a woman. Voldemort demanded my execution as payment for the failed execution. I resisted and fought three of my peers; unfortunately I was not nimble enough to avoid a serious attempt on my life but thankfully, I was quick enough to sustain only injury. After that I took my horse and fled. As for finding you, anyone who knows whom to ask will know that headquarters to the Order of the Phoenix lie to the North-East. I rode North-East for as long as I could, hoping against hope that somewhere along the way I would be stopped and brought to you." As he finished, Malfoy stumbled again and this time fell to his knees.

Pressing his forehead to the ground, clutching his side in earnest agony Malfoy felt two sets of footsteps reverberating down the corridor through the stone. Sure enough, moments later, the footsteps were audible to the rest of the room. Harry lowered his sword and motioned to two of the six in the room, "Pick him up and put him on the bed. Medicus approaches with Hermione."

'_Granger…'_

Through dimming vision Malfoy could make out two figures entering the room. One was a small man, slightly stooped carrying a leather bag. The second was a woman, tall, lithe and graceful. She had a billowing set of brown curls that cascaded halfway down her back. Built like a gymnast Malfoy could see that she was stronger than she appeared. Her eyes were the colour of heavenly earth and she smelt like freshly picked lavender; her face was warm and browned by many days in the sun. She looked the epitome of elegance and steely strength all in one.

The last things Draco Malfoy saw and heard before true unconsciousness seized him were Harry returning the sword to Oliver Wood and leaving the cell, Medicus approaching the cot he was laid upon and Hermione issuing the following orders to the men in the room; "Draco Malfoy is to remain our guest here for a while. I want four guards outside his cell at all times, round the clock! Once Medicus has treated him let him rest and fetch me when he wakes. Dismissed!"

'_Oh Harry, you have made this far, far too easy!'_


	9. Captivity

**Disclaimer's Notice: **I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters featuring in the books or the films. They belong to J.K Rowling and her wonderful mind.

**Chapter 9**

Draco's eyes opened to the now familiar sight of the stone ceiling above his cot. He rubbed the sleep out of his face and stretched out his muscles. The first few nights had been hell on that narrow, hard cot but now three months later, he'd gotten used to the discomfort. Moments after he'd passed out all those weeks ago, he had been searched. His wand, his mantle and his sword had been confiscated but unbeknown to the Order of the Phoenix Malfoy needed none of those things to escape. They all continued to be blindly unaware of his true powers, a serious underestimation in his opinion but still a useful one nonetheless. He had maintained the ruse of his powerlessness and been kept in this cell ever since. Harry had not returned to speak with him since their initial confrontation and apart from Medicus, Malfoy had but one religiously regular visitor.

Hermione Granger.

Rising from bed he padded over to the bucket of water in the corner of the room, illuminated by the early morning sun and began washing as much of the dirt off his body as he could. He didn't have a blade or any soap so shaving, once again, was out of the question. No longer goateed, Malfoy currently sported a full-face beard and his hair was the longest it had ever been. He imagined he looked rather a sight with a bushy blonde beard, hair almost touching his shoulders and generally filthy and scarred. His wounds had healed nicely under the expert care of Medicus who now visited him twice weekly. The scar on his rib cage was still very much there but fading slowly from its vivid purple to a pinkish white. It still hurt sometimes when he over-exerted himself but mostly it gave him no trouble.

As he was finishing his pathetic attempt at daily ablutions, the guard arrived with breakfast. Wolfing down the hearty bowl of porridge, Malfoy returned the plate to its usual place by the door and began to exercise. While he didn't have the space to run, he did have the space to maintain his flexibility and strength. Using features of the room; a metal bar here, a space carved into the wall there; Malfoy was able to do a fairly rigorous workout of lifting & stretching, which he always finished with the nine levels of the Rimgar. Normally, Malfoy would only work through levels eight and nine while training at headquarters but now because he had all the time in the world he thought it best to proceed through the entire set of exercises in order to keep his magical control at optimum levels. He could little afford to start leaking magic from his hand when no one here knew that he didn't need his wand to tap into it.

The intense physical workout usually lasted till lunchtime, after which Malfoy would begin his six-hour Rimgar exercises. With nothing else to do, the days had slowly become more and more tedious and although his body was strengthening, his mind found no such stimulation and had grown quickly bored. He constantly coached himself to be patient and to submit to Harry's will. The longer he showed temperance the more likely the Phoenix members would begin to trust him and see that he was not a threat to them. He ached for his freedom and the fact that he could achieve it at any given moment was no help. All this was a part of his plan but he had not anticipated going so stir-crazy in such a short period of time. At least he had Hermione to look forward to each evening; if nothing else it provided him an outlet to converse with someone even though the conversations always revolved around information about Voldemort and the Militis Argentum.

Finishing the last position of the Rimgar, Malfoy moved back to the bucket of water. He washed as much of the sweat off his chest & back as he could, draped the pathetic excuse for a towel over his naked shoulders and sat heavily down on the bed. He combed his fingers through his long hair, scratched his beard and then stretched his legs out. Leaning back against the cool stoned wall he looked up towards the window of his cell and saw the last rays of the warm August sun hit the window-sill. Gauging the time as accurately as he was able to, he began counting down in his head; _12…11…10…9…8…7…6…5…4…3…2…1!_ Just as he counted the final number he heard the main dungeon door creak open and then clang shut. Light, quick footsteps echoed on the stairs above his head and then somewhere far to the right of the corridor. Malfoy smiled to himself; Hermione was, if nothing else, incredibly punctual. She visited him every day at the same time, approaching from the same exit with the same bodyguard. He heard her greet each one of the four guards stationed in the corridor of his cell as always, he heard their replies and questions, the same as always and finally he saw the chair she would sit on for the next 4-8 hours, as always. Her bodyguard removed the key from his belt, unlocked the door and looked around the room before bringing in a chair and a small table, just like always.

Malfoy stood up as Hermione walked in; he had taken to doing this since she began sitting within the cell itself a few weeks ago. Their conversations till then were conducted through the iron bars of his cell door. Initially, her tone while talking with him had been icy and accusatory but recently had softened to a gentler sort of formality. By no means affectionate or warm, Hermione still maintained her full guard and composure around him but no one, not even Hermione could spend 3 months every day with a person and not develop some sort of feeling toward them.

"Good Evening Malfoy," she said as she sat down.

Malfoy did not respond but merely inclined his head and smiled.

"Oh I wish you would stop standing every time I walk in; it makes me feel terribly small," said Hermione with a half-smile.

Malfoy puffed out his chest a little further, stretched his spine a little more and chuckled, "My apologies, General; that was never my intention."

"Hmmm…of course it wasn't," said Hermione with a raised eyebrow. "And answer me something, if you'd be so kind?"

"Of course Ductor as always, ask and you shall know it."

"Why do you use the Latin word for my rank – 'dock toray'? No one else has ever done so."

Malfoy sat down on the bed; crossing one leg beneath him as he sat; the stones still felt warm from the day's sun under the sole of his foot. Removing the towel from his shoulders he finished wiping the moisture away from his bared chest and then flung it back over one shoulder. Linking his fingers together he leant forward and smiled again, "Within the Militis Argentum, as I have told you before, we have three Generals beneath the Grand Master and the Seneschal. During times of battle they each command a third of the Order's force and are the Generals we look to for field leadership. They also serve as instructors to Novices and Apprentices as and when they are recruited. These Generals are always referred to as 'Ductor'."

"I see but what does that have to do with me? You could just call me 'General' like everyone else or just Granger if that suits you better," replied Hermione.

Malfoy stood up and walked over to a section of the cell wall where his clothes were hanging. He hung his towel over one nail and removed his silver shirt from the other. Turning around he threaded his arms through and pulled it down over his head, but not before catching Hermione looking at his bare chest. Deciding to test the water Malfoy lifted the front of his shirt and pointed at his scar, "It has healed very well; Medicus is a talented Healer."

"Yes, he is. But you Malfoy are avoiding my question. Why do you call me Ductor?

Malfoy inhaled slowly and lowered his eyes with exaggerated motions, "Because the Generals I was trained to obey blindly were never referred to by their titles alone. It did not do them or their abilities justice because they were not merely Generals. You see, the Latin word has many meanings which all apply. Ductor means leader, guide, and teacher, Commander…General. It is a mark of respect where I was taught, but I guess old habits take time to unlearn. I shall not use it if it displeases you," he said humbly.

"Flattery, Draco Malfoy, will achieve nothing here. You can call me Ductor if it makes you feel more comfortable but know that changing my name does nothing to change my resolve in keeping you here," replied Hermione with steel in her voice.

"You misunderstand my meaning; I have no desire to flatter. I merely point out what is true and as such use the correct terminology for it."

Both were silent for a while after this exchange. Malfoy now fully clothed raised a hand to his beard once more and looked thoughtful while Hermione opened the leather bound notebook in front of her and began writing. Stealing quick looks at her every now and then, he noticed that she was in a relaxed mood. Having spent so much time near her, Malfoy had begun to learn the tell signs of Hermione's state of mind. Her feet were solidly planted on the ground, instead of twitching or shifting which meant she was physically relaxed. Her jaw line was smooth telling him that he was mentally relaxed. She was leaning against the back of her chair, which showed that she was at ease in his company. Judging her to be in an amicable mood, Malfoy decided to put forth a request he had been mulling over for some time.

"I wondered if I might ask for something in return for all the information I have given you."

Hermione's eyed immediately snapped to his face, her expression apprehensive. "What is it that you would ask of me?"

"I wondered if I might have a blade with which to shave every now and again. I am not accustomed to keeping a full beard and in this heat it is rather unbearable."

Hermione considered him for a moment before answering, "I unfortunately cannot allow you to keep a blade in your cell but I can arrange for to you have access to one as and when you need it."

"That is acceptable. I would also be grateful for an opportunity to use some proper bathroom facilities to shower in," said Malfoy. "I cannot remember the last time I had a hot shower and a chance to wash my robes."

Hermione's eyebrows shot into her hairline at this, "Of all the things you would ask of me, you ask to shower and wash your robes?"

Malfoy chuckled and replied, "I am a simple man, General. I need little to survive and regretfully, proper hygiene is one of them."

"Understandably so," was all she said. After a few moments silence she continued, "If you so wish it I can arrange for you to bathe and shave immediately."

Malfoy inclined his head, "I would be most grateful."

Hermione nodded to him and called for her bodyguard. She gave him instructions to take Malfoy with his contingent of escorts to the guards' room so that he may use their facilities. He nodded and beckoned the rest of the men into escort formation. Hermione then snapped her fingers and with a 'pop' a house elf appeared before her. Clad in a tunic and pants of crimson and gold, the house elf bowed low and waited for instruction.

"Follow these men to the guards' room; take Malfoy's robes for laundering and return them to him presently. Upon your return bring with you some soap, a lathering brush and a blade for shaving," said Hermione.

The house elf bowed low once more and gestured for Malfoy to follow him.

"I shall meet you in the guards' room for supper shortly," said Hermione.

"As always, it shall be my pleasure."

With that he left the cell and followed the elf, flanked by four men down the corridor towards the stairs. Looking over his shoulder he noticed Hermione's burly bodyguard bringing up the rear. Reaching the top of the stairs, the elf led the party to the left and through an archway into a carpeted corridor. They stopped before the first wooden door on the right and waited for Hermione's bodyguard to clear the room. A few moments later he reappeared at the door and gestured for Malfoy to follow him inside.

The room was a large spacious area with high ceilings; the floor was marbled and in the centre of the room stood a broad oak table with chairs, framed on the opposite wall by a large arched window. To the right of the room there was a small passage that led into a tiled room with six shower stalls and six basins. A row of cubicles was set further into the room presumably containing toilets. The guards arranged themselves at the entrance to the main room and on either side of the short passage. The bodyguard motioned him to enter the passage and then seated himself by the chair closest to the window at the large table. Malfoy walked through the passage and into the bathroom where the house elf thoughtfully turned around to allow Malfoy some privacy to undress. After doing so he stepped into the nearest shower cubicle and turned on the water while the elf gathered his clothing and Disapparated. Allowing the warm water to flow down his body Malfoy mulled over his small but important achievement. Three months ago the mere mention of him leaving the cell to bathe would have been laughed at and yet here he was, almost a free man.

Having thoroughly scrubbed himself raw Malfoy turned off the water and opened the cubicle door. As he reached for a towel hanging on a nearby railing, he spotted a shadow by the passage entrance. Seeing that she had been noticed, Hermione walked into the light followed by the house elf. Her ever-present bodyguard remained in the passage a short distance away. The elf laid Malfoy's freshly laundered robes and polished boots on a chair and then presented Hermione with a small leather pouch. Bowing once more he Disapparated and they were alone.

"Well, this is a rather unexpected visit," said Malfoy a little surprised.

"Come now Malfoy, you really didn't expect me to give you a blade with the confidence that you wouldn't try and conceal it for later misuse!"

"No, I suppose not. I do however find it slightly disturbing that you still do not trust me even after I have cooperated with your wishes for so long," said Malfoy with a frown.

"Ah but therein lies the key; you have cooperated with me fully when asked to do so but you are still hiding something Malfoy. I can see it in your eyes; I have been waiting patiently for months to see if you will reveal the secret you carry, on your own," said Hermione with her arms folded, "but you seem to value this secret more than you do my trust."

Malfoy was shocked to his core but allowed none of it to show on his face. Not one single person in all the years he had been a Knight, had been able to read him as acutely as Hermione Granger just had. He tightened the towel around his waist and stepped closer to her. "I am not quite sure what you are referring to, Ductor."

"You really think me so easily played, Malfoy? I have been at this long enough to know when a prisoner is truly broken and when he is not. You are our captive, we seek information that your very life depends upon and there is no hope of escape for you yet all you calmly ask of me in three whole months is for the opportunity to use a bloody bathroom! If you genuinely believe that I can be fooled by such a transparent farce then you must think the entire Order of the Phoenix to be made of morons and knaves!"

The accuracy of her suspicions unnerved Malfoy; truly he had not believed it would take this long to win her trust. He had underestimated her and that was a potentially fatal mistake. He considered how to play this latest obstacle then stepped closer to her and reached out his left hand, "If you would allow me to finish dressing, I promise to reveal what it is you wish to know."

Hermione considered his face, looked deep into his eyes and decided he was telling the truth. Instead of putting the pouch into his hand she walked past him towards the row of basins. Perching herself atop the counter that linked all six sinks, she unzipped the bag in her lap laying out a pair of scissors, a comb and the soap and brush next to the nearest sink. Malfoy watched her before turning around and picking up his boxers. He retreated into a cubicle and emerged clad only in his underwear, towel in hand. He watched Hermione's eyes once more run over his neck, chest and stomach. He could tell that she admired his physique, that was not hard to fathom but beyond that she was a closed book. He approached the sink and turned on the hot water. Reaching for the scissors and the comb he first ran it through his hair. Pushing his hair back he noticed again how long it had become; he was unused to it but decided his priority was his beard. Taking the comb he began, under the watchful eye of Hermione, to trim the hair down to the skin. Leaving the area around his chin relatively untouched he replaced the scissors on the counter and soaped his face. Once he had finished, he looked at Hermione once more.

"I swear to you on my honour that I shall use the blade to shave and that is all," said Draco softly.

It was obvious that Hermione did not believe him and from the moment she handed the razor to him her hand rested upon both her wand and the hilt of dagger she wore at the base of her spine. Malfoy opened the knife and checked the blade's edge. Satisfied he gripped it and raised it to his cheek. With precise, clean strokes he cleared his entire face surprisingly quickly. Rinsing the blade off, he once more picked up the scissors and trimmed his new goatee down to an appropriate length. He turned his face this way and that checking the results; satisfied he washed his face, cleaned the blade, scissors and brush before placing them in his open palm and presenting them back to Hermione who looked a little surprised.

"Like I said before, I just wanted to shave."

She took the items from his hand and he turned back to the chair where he began to dress fully. Donning his trousers and shirt he then put on his socks and boots; noticing Hermione watching him again he decided to wear his repaired, clean surcoat as well. If she was going to be watching him the whole way through dinner he should at least be dressed like something worth staring at. Lifting it off the chair he pushed his arms through and dropped it over his head. The weight of the fabric hanging all the way to his knees felt comfortable and familiar. Turning to look at himself in the mirror he tied his belt securely and tugged at the material to straighten any creases. Hermione's expression was that of an impressed bystander watching for the first time as a military man dons his armour. She took in all of it with a hunger that surprised Malfoy. He flicked his gaze back to his reflection and smiled; he did look rather good and his uniform was rather impressive when worn with relish and respect.

Almost as if reading his thoughts, Hermione jumped off the counter and approached him. "You still wear that uniform with pride Malfoy. How is that possible when you claim to detest what it stands for?"

The lies slipped so easily from his lips now; "The uniform is not what makes me proud, I have worn it for so many years now that I have forgotten what it feels like to not. The pride you see on my face comes from an internal acknowledgement of the hard work, effort and commitment that went into earning the right to wear it."

"I suppose I can understand that, although I am surprised that your training in the Militis Argentum continues to bring back happy, satisfactory memories."

"Just because I no longer believe in what we were training for doesn't mean the training in itself was wrong. The skills taught to me are still valuable and were learnt through discipline, exercise and practice. I am sure, in your own way, you teach new recruits to the Order of the Phoenix the same traits merely in a different context."

Hermione laughed bitterly at his words, "This _mere_ difference in context you speak of is the reason this war exists at all."

"True but you do not disagree that the skills and traits, learnt and honed are the same on both sides?" asked Malfoy.

"No I would say that ours are better learnt because they are taught to willing students with love and kindness," said Hermione adamantly.

Malfoy did not reply to this but allowed his gaze to rest on her face instead. "You speak with passion I did not know you had, General. You condition yourself to be a stoic presence who feels nothing for anyone but deep down the currents of your emotions are so violent you fear they will sweep you into oblivion if you do not control them." He raised his right-hand to touch her face.

Catching sight of the blue and purple glowing crest on his silver palm caused her to take a half step away, "Perhaps this conversation would be better finished in a more suitable environment?"

Malfoy allowed his hand to fall to his side, "Of course, Ductor. Please, after you."

Hermione turned around and walked out of the bathroom through the passage and back into the guards' room. Malfoy followed close behind her, allowing Hermione to feel his presence at her back knowing that he had finally struck a chord in her steely demeanour.

They entered the guards' room to find the large table set for two; the sun had just set and the sky outside boasted a beautiful twilight summer evening. Hermione moved to the chair nearest the window and motioned Malfoy to sit opposite. As soon as they'd sat down six house elves came in bearing dishes of soup, meat, bread, vegetables, fruits and wine. Hermione thanked them and poured out two glasses of wine; passing one to Malfoy she leant back in her chair and surveyed him over the rim of her cup. Holding her gaze Malfoy took a sip and swilled it in his mouth before swallowing. Placing his cup on the table he linked his fingers and rested his chin on top.

Hermione served herself and began eating; Malfoy followed suit and for a while the room was filled with the sounds of cutlery on china. Hermione paused between courses and laid down her knife and fork. Looking at Malfoy still eating she waited until he noticed she had stopped.

"Something on your mind?" he asked.

"Only a promise of knowledge that is yet to be honoured," she replied.

Malfoy put down his knife and fork, wiped his mouth with a napkin, took a long drink from his cup and then placed both his hands flat on the table. He needed to choose his words carefully. The knowledge that he was still in possession of magical abilities needed to be explained in a submissive manner. Should Hermione perceive the secrecy of this knowledge in any negative way, Malfoy would be right back where he started three months ago.

"Are you comfortable? I thought I might open a window," said Malfoy softly.

Hermione raised an eyebrow and gestured for Malfoy to proceed. Instead of rising from his chair as expected, Malfoy very slowly raised his right hand up and toward the window. Hermione slid her chair back a few inches and reached for her wand. Before she had time to react, the crest on Malfoy's palm glowed brighter, the window latch behind her head released and swung the window open a fraction. A warm breeze entered the room caressing the curls on either side of Hermione's cheeks, blowing them towards Malfoy. He caught the scent of lavender once more but couldn't decide if it was coming from Hermione's hair or the fields outside. Hermione's expression was shocked, amazed, horrified, intrigued and angry all at the same time.

"What did you just do Malfoy?" she asked sternly.

"I used magic, General. I thought that was obvious," said Malfoy lowering his hand and picking up his cup. Taking another long drink he looked up at Hermione who now had the expression of thunder.

"You lied to me!" she spat angrily.

"No, I merely omitted a detail that you never asked about," replied Malfoy calmly. "I knew that if you were to become aware of the true power that lay beneath my Silver Hand you would never have given me the opportunity to show my true commitment to your cause. After a while you would have discovered that my hand cannot be amputated from my body nor can it be drained of power and after that you would have assumed the only way to deal with me would be to kill me before I had a chance to give you what I set out to accomplish. And what a shame that would have been."

"And what would that be," asked Hermione, wand still in hand.

"Information vital to the destruction of Voldemort's power, and the opportunity to stop him once and for all."

Hermione's gaze was fixed upon Malfoy's hand, which still clutched the wine cup he was drinking from. He placed the cup down and rose from the table slowly. Hermione also stood and pointed her wand directly at his chest. "One more step Malfoy and I will kill you," she said.

Malfoy raised his hands in surrender. "I wish to give you the opportunity to satisfy your curiosity," was all he replied.

She frowned slightly and moved a little closer. Malfoy extended his right arm, palm facing the ceiling and nodded his head. Hermione approached a little closer and when she was a few inches away from his arm she stopped; looked cautiously into his palm and exhaled audibly. Her eyes travelled over every inch of its surface with a burning curiosity that bled through her expression like a floodgate.

"You may examine it more closely if you wish; it shall not harm you and neither will I."

Hermione looked at Malfoy intensely for what seemed like hours. Seeing the sincerity of his words in his eyes Hermione sheathed her wand and took Malfoy's hand in both of hers. He moved closer and rolled up the sleeve of his silver shirt. Hermione's elegant fingers traced a pattern of protruding silver veins from the back of his hand to halfway up his forearm where they descended into his skin and became flesh. She could not see where the organic matter ended and the silver began for there was no clear distinction between the two. Puzzled she traced each vein to the source and then examined the inside of his wrist before finally staring at the crest that was pulsating softly.

"It's so cold! What is it? We always thought it was a magical prosthetic of some sort that you used because of an injury," she asked quietly.

Malfoy chuckled, "You could call it that but the truth is far more complex. You see, when a Novice pledges their allegiance to the Militis Argentum they are trained for six months before undergoing the first of three sets of trials. Upon successful completion of the first, the Novice is asked to pledge their life and allegiance to the Dark Lord. If they choose to do so then as a mark of loyalty, they are required to cut off their right hands. Should the Dark Lord accept their pledge, He acknowledges it by giving them a new, more powerful hand forged from the essence of Unicorn blood through which a Knight or Dame is meant to do His will. The crest in the palm is the key through which all power flows and as the creation of the hand is so steeped in the rituals of Old Magic it can never be destroyed. The Silver Hand is also the Dark Lord's way of ensuring loyalty amongst his assassins. You see, if commanded to do so by Voldemort a hand will defy the wishes of its owner and end their life if need be. Fortunately for me, Voldemort has to be in a reasonably close proximity to it for have any effect."

"Hermione looked appalled, "At least now I understand why you are called the Knights of the Silver Hand. And the crest, on your palm? Is it runic in origin? I do not recognise any of the symbols from my studies."

"I believe so but the runes have been bastardised by Voldemort into symbols of evil power and deadly skill."

"So if you have the Hand then why do you need to carry a wand?"

"I learnt very early on in my life to never rely solely on any one thing. I carry my wand as a contingency; a poor substitute in comparison but nevertheless effective if used properly."

"So you're telling me that you have had magical ability for three months and you never used it? Why would you choose to remain a prisoner if you had the power to free yourself?"

"What good would that have done? I would have broken free and in doing so sealed my fate as an untrustworthy spy. I wanted to allow you the opportunity to see the truth in why I came here, which is to help you and to join you!"

Hermione considered this for a moment. "How powerful is the Hand?"

Malfoy answered, "Independently the hand wields no strength and holds no power within itself. But when used by a trained assassin it allows us to tap into reserves of power that none else even dream of both within and without our own bodies."

"I'm not quite sure I understand," said Hermione.

Malfoy stepped away and removed his hand from between Hermione's. He faced his palm toward one of the candles and closed his fingers; the flame immediately went out. When he brought his fist to Hermione's face she looked puzzled. He opened his hand revealing the flame of the candle flickering in his palm.

"Energy never dies, it is merely passed from form to form. It is the same with magic because energy _is_ magic. I can suck magical power from the energy around me if I need to but it is not commonly done because no one needs that much power and doing so is dangerous if you cannot control it. This method is is a form of what we call _Superus Veneficus_ or, Higher Magic. Most of the magic preformed is fuelled by the energy within our own selves. If you've ever wondered why you've felt tired after performing a lot of magic, it is because you have been using your own strength reserves. Certain, highly disciplined, powerful Knights are trained to draw not only from themselves but also from things around thereby giving them more stamina & endurance when needed. There have been instances in the ancient past of the Order when Knights have drawn power from the people around them as well. Doing so inevitably kills the source individual, as we cannot always control how much energy we take which is why using Higher Magic is so forbidden. For a normal witch or wizard performing Higher Magic is almost impossible but our hands break down the access barrier because they are made from such a sacred magical substance. So to answer your question, the Hand is as powerful as I am strong because I do not use Higher Magic."

"And strong you are," whispered Hermione. "I still do not understand why you did not tell me this when you first came here. It would have greatly improved your chances of gaining my trust if you had. You must have laughed when we stripped you of all weapons knowing that the most powerful of them all could never have been parted from you."

Malfoy laughed quietly, "The thought did occur but if I may be frank: I did not trust you to trust me when I first came here. But I believe that has now changed, at least for me. So, you now know all there is to know; now you must decide my fate. I leave it entirely to you and your wisdom…Hermione."

Hermione looked startled for a few minutes. Malfoy had never used her first name before. She quickly realised how absurd that was; Malfoy using her name for the first time could in no way remove the weight of what he had just told her. She needed to speak with Harry to decide what to do next. Sheathing her wand, she took a few steps back.

"Guards, escort Malfoy back to his cell. Harry and I shall join you presently."

As the men moved to surround Malfoy once more he inclined his head to her, never breaking eye contact. He saw something soften in her gaze for an instant before the steely expression returned.

_Your move, Granger. Make it a good one._

She walked out before him and continued down the carpeted corridor to a portrait hanging on the far wall. Within a few moments she was gone and Malfoy was being escorted back into his cell. The door clanged shut, the bolt was secured and the guards returned to their sentry positions. Malfoy sighed. He rested his head against the bars and steadied his breathing; staying there for what felt like an eon he suddenly heard the distant sounds of doors opening. Raising his head he moved to the back wall of the cell and slid down to the floor. Resting his arms on his knees he closed his eyes as the sounds of footsteps became ever closer, ever clearer.

_Let the games begin, Potter._


	10. The Verdict

**Disclaimer's Notice: **I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters featuring in the books or the films. They belong to J.K Rowling and her wonderful mind.

**Chapter 10**

"He has Magic!" Harry roared as his fist came crashing down onto the table.

Hermione winced; she had expected Harry to be angry but not this angry. Malfoy's omission of power retained seemed to have affected Harry more than it did her. Despite her reservations over his reaction she allowed him to rant a while longer.

"That lying scheming, no good snake! I knew we couldn't trust him. I knew from the second he laid foot on our land that he was going to be nothing but trouble. You should have let me kill him from the start; how are we supposed to end him now when he has more power than any of us ever dreamed of despite the fact that he is unarmed!"

Hermione sat down in an armchair by the empty fireplace. Silently unsheathing the dagger from her boot she began rotating it in her hands allowing Harry a few moments to compose himself. "He does not want to hurt us Harry. I believe him when he says he came here to help us. Why else would he have waited three months as our prisoner before revealing his power? He could have blasted his way out of that cell on any given night and murdered us all in our sleep if that is what he came here for. Malfoy came here to help us end Voldemort and we should allow him the opportunity to do so. What harm comes from accepting his offer?"

"Are you so blind to the obvious? Malfoy is a manipulator, Hermione. Always has been, and old dogs do not learn new tricks no matter how hard their masters try. He has gotten under your skin so effectively that you are actually defending him to me of all people! Do you remember NOTHING of what we have suffered at the hands of his once comrades in arms," bellowed Harry.

Hermione bolted out of the chair, threw the dagger at the floor and marched straight past its quivering hilt up to her friend. "Remember? Do I remember? Harry you are so blinded by your hatred of this man that you have forgotten who you are talking to. When you married Ginny and the Death Eaters raided your wedding reception, who got you both out in one piece? When James was born who stood guard outside Ginny's room at St. Mungo's? When you were at Grimmauld Place hosting that summit, who stayed in the freezing North to guard that which you valued most? When they were killed who nursed you back to health? Who pulled you back into reality? Who reminded you of what we were fighting for?"

Harry deflated slightly at Hermione's words and had the decency to look sheepish. He began to move away but Hermione grabbed him by the shoulders and continued, "I am telling you we have a way to end it; to make it all worth something. All the pain, the loss and the suffering! We have a means to make sure no one in this world has to experience what we have ever again. Take it Harry! As your best friend, your advisor, your General I implore you! Take the opportunity. Use him, learn from him and let's strike back with such vengeance they will never know what hit them. When it's done you can kill him, I swear to you I will not stand in your way. In fact, I will give you the blade to slit his throat myself."

Releasing Harry, Hermione walked back to the armchair and retrieved her dagger still embedded in the wooden floorboards. Sheathing it back in her boot she turned to face him once more, "Listen to what he has to say, I promise you will not regret it."

Harry nodded, "Fine. I will listen to what he has to say but that does not mean I will believe him or trust him. If my listening to him will make you feel better about his presence here I will. I'll meet you in the dungeons shortly. I have to send a few owls before I meet with him."

Hermione smiled and nodded her thanks; turning to leave she was stopped at the door by Harry's voice.

"He would have been proud of you today, you know. Thorin…he would have been proud."

Hermione felt tears welling up in her eyes; blinking them away she looked over her shoulder at the second empty chair by the fireplace, "He's dead Harry; it doesn't matter what he would have thought."

She opened the door and left the room feeling Harry's eyes at her back. Walking down the corridor she reached a flight of stairs. Climbing to the roof took less time than it normally did probably because for the first time she wasn't counting the steps. Hermione emerged on the roof at the base of the eastern-most battlement of the castle. Placing a hand on the cooling stone wall she pressed her forehead against it and allowed a few tears to fall onto her cheeks.

Thorin.

Why did Harry have to bring up Thorin? Her teacher, her mentor, her rock, her advisor, her brother, her confidant, her best friend, her lover… Thorin was all of these and more; and he had been ripped from her side in the same battle that had claimed the life of Ginny and Harry's infant son James. She still remembered that moment like it had been yesterday and despite the years that had passed the memory came back to her as if it was happening all over again before her very eyes.

_There was chaos all around her; bodies, blood and screaming everywhere. Spells flying about with such intensity it was an almost beautiful spectacle of light and colour. She saw Ginny, auburn hair streaming in the wind, blood seeping from a cut on her cheek, cradling James in her arms calling for Harry. A masked Death Eater approached from behind and unsheathed a knife. Hermione grabbed Thorin's arm and screamed one word, 'GINNY'. In a flash he realised what was happening and began to run over to them. The Death Eater's hand reached out for Ginny, grabbing a fistful of hair he exposed her throat and drew the blade across it. Blood spurted out onto the ground at her feet as he walked away to his next victim. Thorin reached Ginny just as she began to fall. Taking James in his arms he looked for Hermione and saw her a few feet away. Holding Ginny in one arm he passed James to Hermione. Before she realised it, five Death Eaters had surrounded them. Hermione felt a blow to the back of her knees and dropped onto the gravel. James was ripped out of her arms and passed to another Death Eater. Pinned to the ground she was powerless to stop them as they dashed James' head against a stone block and stabbed Thorin in the back repeatedly. She watched, helpless as her only support in this terrible world had the life speared out of him again, and again, and again, and again. She must have been screaming before she passed out because Hermione awoke a few hours later in the hospital wing back at Headquarters with a sore throat and an aching head. The absence of Thorin in her heart and her life ever present, ever fresh, ever painful._

Hermione opened her eyes and shook the memory out of her mind. Thorin could not help her now, he could not advise her, he could not cradle her in his beautiful strong arms, he could not spar with her and he could not smile at her ever again. The sooner she realised that, the better she would be able to complete the task ahead. Unlike Harry, Hermione had buried her grief so deep she sometimes thought she would never be able to reach it when the time came to deal with it, to acknowledge it. Having allowed herself these few moments of weakness, she wiped her tears, slowed her breathing and pushed herself away from the battlement wall; she made her way back to the stairs and went all the way down to the dungeons. Harry was waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs.

"I'm sorry, Hermione. I shouldn't have brought him up. I know he meant a lot to you," said Harry softly.

"It's ok, I'm fine. I just went up to check our eastern perimeter. Let's just get on with this shall we," she replied quickly.

Harry knew she was lying but decided not to press the issue. He nodded and motioned for the escort to follow them. As they made their way further down through the dungeons to Malfoy's cell Hermione could see Harry visibly steel himself for the meeting to come. He was rolling his shoulders while clenching and unclenching his fists; the tension in his jaw almost tangible. They reached the cell door where Hermione saw Malfoy sitting calmly with his back against the far wall, arms resting on his knees staring straight at them. He made no motions to stand up when they entered and instead smiled at them warmly allowing his eyes to rest on Hermione a moment longer than usual. It stirred something in the pit of her stomach but she ignored it and moved to stand behind Harry's left shoulder. A guard brought two chairs into the room and secured the door behind them.

Harry pulled one of the chairs towards Malfoy and sat down heavily a few feet away. Hermione remained standing and after a few moments of silence decided to break the ice between these two old enemies.

"Malfoy, tell Harry what you told me about your hand."

"I'm sure you've said enough on the matter for the both of us General," replied Malfoy.

"I still think it would be better received coming directly from the source," she insisted.

"Very well, as you command General."

Malfoy began to recount every detail of what he had told Hermione in the Guard Room about his hand, the power it wielded and Higher Magic. Harry listened quietly but attentively while he spoke, raising no questions or objections of any kind. His expression betrayed none of the anger, mistrust, shock or surprise he had voiced upstairs. Hermione was impressed and reminded once again why Harry was such a perfect leader. Emotional and sensitive though he was, it was shown to none save those he trusted most. His armour was steely resolve, determination, unwavering belief in his cause and complete disciplined precision in his thoughts and actions.

When Malfoy was finished, Harry took a few minutes to absorb what he had heard before speaking: "Well Malfoy, that is quite a story. Let me ask you something, if you were in my position what would you do?"

"I don't quite follow," replied Malfoy.

"It's a simple question. If the roles were reversed and I had come to you with claims of changed ways and desires to destroy the Order of the Phoenix what would you say, think and do?"

Malfoy paused for a few moments considering how best to answer. He had not expected this angle and wondered for a moment if it was a trick question.

"If the roles were reversed as you say, it would not be my decision. I am but a small individual in a much larger organisation. I would be expected to follow orders given by the Grand Master or the Dark Lord like the rest of my brothers; your question is therefore invalid," he replied logically.

"Your choice of words is interesting. You speak of your past comrades in the present tense as if you were still a part of them. And you still refer to Voldemort by his title and not his name," said Harry softly. "I'm afraid it doesn't inspire much confidence in your self-proclaimed reformation."

"Old habits die hard," said Malfoy with a shrug of his shoulders. "I have lived and served with the Order since I was seventeen. I have been trained to bend my will and actions to serve Voldemort's desires for eight years. You're asking me to change the manner in which I speak of this service in a matter of months, forgive me if I take a moment to get used to it. My references to them may be present but I can assure you my allegiance is past."

"That, Malfoy, remains to be seen. But for now, you still have not answered my question," pressed Harry.

Malfoy took in the silence that followed for a few more minutes before responding, "If I was in command and you had come to me with the same claims I would have never listened. I would have shown you no quarter and never allowed a lethally powerful man to roam my headquarters for even an instant, imprisoned or otherwise. I would have you fight to the death with my best Knights for sport and if they failed to kill you, I would subdue you myself and have you publically executed. I would then place your head on a spike and return it to your Order showing them how the other side deals with deserters as an example to all other spies who would try the same."

Hermione jolted slightly at his response. Malfoy could tell it was not what she had been expecting. Harry on the other hand, had narrowed his eyes to near slits. He smiled cruelly and spoke in a dangerously soft voice, "Well then Draco, I believe we have our answer." Rising from his chair he glanced at Hermione who, still standing had her mouth half open in semi protest. Silencing the potential words from her mouth with a raised hand, Harry continued, "At dawn tomorrow, you will be taken to the arena. Your weapons will be returned to you and you will face three of my best fighters. If they fail to kill you, I will have you bound and executed in the main courtyard for all to see. I shall then cut off your head and your hand, both of which shall be sent back to the Militis Argentum as a warning. Harry Potter is no fool, and the Order of the Phoenix is not so easily infiltrated as they seem to believe it is."

Malfoy suppressed the smile that threatened to reach his lips. Harry had played right into his hands. Glancing over at Hermione he saw her face and had noted her previous reaction, which was proof enough. But he held his silence not wanting to spoil the surprise that he was sure would come with the rising of the sun. "Very well, I shall see you at dawn then, Potter" was all he said.

Harry nodded and called for the guards to open the cell door. He left without another word, Hermione trailing silently after, still wearing her expression of shock and disgust. As she was about to leave the room, Malfoy noticed her hesitation. Just for a second, a split second, it looked as if she was about to turn and say something to him but instead sighed and left with Harry.

The door shut behind them, Malfoy raised himself off the ground, undressed, readied himself for bed and lay down on the cot. He looked at the ceiling and allowed himself the previously denied smile.

His plan was going better than he had ever expected.


	11. Sentence Past

**Disclaimer's Notice: **I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters featuring in the books or the films. They belong to J.K Rowling and her wonderful mind.

**Chapter 11**

The mists of pre-dawn…

The sound of chirping birds filtered in through the small window of his cell causing Draco Malfoy, a man condemned to die with the light of this day, to stir from his sleep.

Yawning he raised himself from his narrow cot and began to prepare himself for his day in the arena. Breakfast was served as usual along with a bucket of cold water. Washing as much of himself as he could, Malfoy dressed in his full uniform and waited for the inevitable footsteps on stone, here to lead him down into the training arena. Before long, a contingent of armed men arrived at his cell door and instructed him to follow them. Leading him up through the narrow, dark corridors Malfoy began to sense a change of temperature before he saw any signs of exiting the dungeons. In an instant though, he rounded a corner & was suddenly bathed in sunlight through an open door. Dazzled for a moment, Malfoy couldn't make out what lay beyond but after a few moments his eyes adjusted to the brightness and he saw a courtyard. Standing in the centre of it, an angel kissed by the sun's rays, was Hermione Granger. Dressed in leather trousers, brown boots and a linen shirt, Malfoy noticed a sword and dagger draped around her waist; she was encased within a large group of men who were all talking animatedly around her. She looked to be standing at the very epicentre, within the eye of storm. Chaos surrounded her in the form of shouting voices and obvious protests yet she met Malfoy's eyes evenly with a hint of amusement.

Her expression puzzled Draco and in the seconds their eyes connected he felt a jolt of something pass right through him. She must have felt it too because the corner of her mouth quirked up before she turned to silence the crowd gathered. As Malfoy moved further into the throng of people towards her, they parted to form a clear corridor. Silence rippled through them as he passed closer and closer to the centre. His guards, unfazed, did not miss a step; they continued their steady march until they reached Hermione.

"Ductor", said Malfoy inclining his head.

"Malfoy", she replied. "I believe these weapons belong to you", she said holding out his sword and belt.

Draco accepted his belongings in both hands and tied the belt securely around his waist. Hermione waited patiently for him to finish adjusting his clothes and then motioned for the guards to let her enter his perimeter. Moving aside to let her pass, they began to move as one toward the opposite end of the courtyard. Clearing the throng, Malfoy looked over his shoulder and saw the people begin to follow his little procession. Realising this was his audience sent a ripple of excitement from his head all the way down to his toes. The anticipation was releasing adrenaline in waves through his system, the likes of which he hadn't experienced in a long, long time.

_Steady Draco, steady. Be still, be swift, be silent; this is exactly where you needed to be. Succeed now and celebrate later._

Allowing his inner thoughts to fill his mind entirely Draco took a series of deep breaths to calm his heart and dissipate the excess adrenaline. Hermione noticed this and made comment.

"Nervous?"

Draco smiled at her, "Not at all; just readying myself. I haven't exerted myself physically in months, my body isn't used to this much inactivity."

"Is that what you call all those hours of stretching and meditating?" asked Hermione in a sarcastic tone.

_She's been watching me in my cell…hmmm…interesting._

"General, have you been spying on me?" asked Malfoy chuckling. "The Rimgar, or stretching and meditating as you call it, is a series of exercises for the muscles and mind. I would have been no use to you fat, bored and unfocused, now would I?"

"You'll have to teach it to me if you survive this. I would be very much interested to know how to perform it. It sounded very disciplined from the description the guards gave me", she replied.

"You doubt my chances?"

Hermione sighed, "No Malfoy, but I doubt Harry's mercy. Your fate, I'm afraid, has been predetermined by your own judgement. If our three warriors do not kill you then Harry will. I do not believe I will have the opportunity to speak with you again after this, which is such a shame considering all that I have yet to learn from you." She sounded almost despondent at the mention of his death.

Malfoy picked up on this but chose to remain silent. He noticed they had passed through a door on the other side of the courtyard, heading west. Looking up he saw banners streaming on the ends of the large platform he had noticed on his way into the castle all those months ago. The gentle breeze had turned into a warm wind as they passed through the door, which Malfoy now saw was coming from the sea. It was a glorious sight. Stretching in front of him was a vast plain that tapered down into a bed of rocks beyond which lay the frothing of the North Sea. A few hundred meters in front of him stood a circular structure open to the sky. He assumed this was the Order's arena; it could not have been more different than the arena he was accustomed to. The walls were made of rough planks nailed together and the sand within it was a dark colour, almost volcanic in hue. There were no stands as such, just a series of benches against the walls. It reminded Draco of a bear pit more than a training ground. Big enough to house about fifty warriors it was miniscule in size by comparison to the Militis Argentum's arena.

Passing through the wide door, Malfoy stopped. Hermione turned to look at him, curiosity etched in her brow. He turned to face her full on and looked deep into her eyes.

"If what you say is true then there is something I would say before this day begins in earnest. I know that we had differences in the past and for that I am sorry. Having spent these last three months in your company, I wish we had been given a chance to serve together. Either under Voldemort's command, or Potter's, it would have been an honour to work with someone like you. It has _been_ an honour to spend my last three months in this world with you. General…Hermione."

Malfoy lowered his gaze, placed his fist across his chest and bowed at the waist. Remaining like this for a few seconds, he stood up and saw Hermione's mouth slightly open. Her eyes darted from side to side as she thought of something to say. Malfoy stood straight once more, looked into her eyes and then stepped away from her before she had a chance to form a sentence. Hermione remained where she was and watched as Malfoy's guards escorted him into the middle of the arena before stepped back to the benches against the walls. She gazed at him with shock, amazement and wonder as he drew himself up to his full height, chin pointed out with his left hand on the pommel of his sword.

As the crowd of spectators began to file past her, Hermione shook the confusion out of her head and made her way to the bench directly in front of where Draco was standing. A few moments later when most of the Order of the Phoenix had assembled on the surrounding benches, Hermione saw Harry enter the arena with Oliver Wood, Ron Weasley and Dean Thomas. Flanked by his three best warriors Harry strode confidently towards her and motioned for them to take their places.

The three men looked at Malfoy with distaste yet still he stood awaiting the start of this farce. Hermione admired his courage; he did not betray any sense of fear or hesitation on his face or posture. Realising she felt sympathy for Malfoy, Hermione turned her face away and stepped closer to Harry. Their eyes met and she could see the excitement in him.

"Ready," he asked her.

"Whenever you are," she replied hiding her true feelings about what was to take place.

Harry turned to the crowd gathered around him and raised his arms into the air. Whatever little chatter there was died immediately as all waited with bated breath for the words of their leader.

"Friends, we are gathered here today to witness the execution of Draco Malfoy, a member and Knight of the previously unknown Order of the Militis Argentum. After much deliberation on his fate, Hermione and I decided to pose the question of what to do with Malfoy to the man himself. The sentence I now pass is Malfoy's own account of how to deal with agents from the other side. Therefore it is only right we do unto others as they would have done unto us. Are we in agreement?"

The crowd roared its approval to Harry's words and a few minutes were taken to restore silence and order to the throng. Malfoy was impressed once more by Harry's skill as an orator; the man could rouse a crowd that much was for certain. But whether or not he could swing a sword, well that remained to be seen.

"Draco Malfoy. By the words you yourself gave voice, I, Harry James Potter elected leader of the Order of the Phoenix hereby pass your sentence. In the name of all those who have fallen and suffered at the hand of you and yours I sentence you to death! You will be pitted against three of my best warriors to fight to the death so all may see the skills you claim to possess. In the event that they should fail you shall fight me and upon my victory I will behead you, strike that unnatural foul extremity from your arm and stake both upon a spear to be sent back to the bowels of Voldemort's den as a warning to all future deserters and spies. We are here, we are vigilant and we shall remain so until the end of his days!"

The crowd erupted once more in cheers of encouragement and agreement as Ron, Oliver and Dean donned their battle leathers and unsheathed their weapons.

Malfoy kept his face impassive although his mind was roiling with anger, _'Presumptuous little shit! Do you really think it so easy to kill me? Let us have sport and see shall we? Your arrogance will be your undoing Potter and if I never get a chance to say it to your face, know that I said it in my heart first.'_

Hermione heard all that Harry had to say, but she could not find it in her heart to cheer with the rest. Fortunately, no one noticed this and so her disapproval remained in the shadows of her heart. Somehow, she knew this was wrong and that it should be stopped. When she asked herself later why she felt thus, no explanation offered itself. All she knew was that if Malfoy were struck down, something in her would die with him. How to explain this, she did not know so she held her peace and watched the scene unfold before her.

Ron was the first to approach flanked closely by Dean to his right and Oliver to his left. Ron raised his broadsword to his chest and tightened his grip on his shield as Oliver swung his great-sword over his head with both hands. Dean's stiff mace was pointed at the ground as he twirled his dagger in his hand. All the while Malfoy's sword remained sheathed, his hand resting lightly on the pommel. The three men looked over their shoulder at Harry in confusion. Why wasn't he fighting?

Malfoy closed his eyes and raised his face to the sky. He took a few deep breaths and allowed the sounds of shifting sand around him to guide his attentions.

_Three in front…one in front, two to the right…one in front, one to the right, and one behind…_

The men formed a semi-circle around him approaching slowly, deliberately. Harry's voice rang out clear into the silence, cutting the air like a honed blade. "Malfoy, if you use magic you will be killed instantly. If you do not fight you forfeit the right of combat and will be killed instantly. Begin!"

Malfoy lowered his head and opened his eyes to find Hermione Granger, jaw clenched, staring straight at him. He was so taken aback at what he saw deep within her gaze that it stopped the breath in his throat. She was trying to say something to him with nothing but her eyes. The message was so clear, so forceful she might as well have screamed it across the distance that separated them. But he understood, and with that understanding came a sense of victory; her reasons, her motivation for this was irrelevant. Its existence was all that mattered and he realised in that instant that he had already won the battle that was most important to this whole war.

Hermione Granger was begging him, willing him to fight, to win, and to survive.

'_You command and I shall obey, Granger. You will live to regret this, but I will obey'_, thought Malfoy with an inward smile.

In one motion, Malfoy unsheathed his sword, raised his right hand palm out and sank into an attack stance with the hilt of his sword raised to his ear. Ron was the first to lunge and with a howl of rage threw himself at Malfoy. He was met steel for steel inches apart from his opponent. Ron and Malfoy stood with crossed blades for a nanosecond before Draco felt more than heard Dean swing his mace to strike. Ducking his head to the side he felt the air around his temple ripple as the blow flew past and missed him. Throwing Ron back he twirled and slammed his fist into Dean's thigh using his sword to block the downward cut Oliver had just made with his great-sword. Sparks flew as the blades collided and the ringing of metal deafened the small arena. In this fashion Malfoy dodged, parried, ducked and rolled around the three men avoiding all contact as they exhausted themselves around him. In a few short minutes all four of them were dripping with sweat and yet they continued their assaults. Oliver swung at the back of Draco's neck while he battered Ron's shield with a series of uncompromising blows; avoiding the blow too late he was rewarded with a cut that ran from above his eyebrow to halfway down his cheek. Hot blood spurted into Malfoy's eye as he was momentarily blinded. The crowd howled at the sight of first blood and encouraged by this Ron surged forward knocking Malfoy to his back with his shield.

As Draco's head hit the sand Hermione dug her fingernails into her palm. She hadn't realised her fists were clenched and made a conscious effort to relax her hands. Harry was panting with excitement next to her clutching his sheathed sword. In an instant however, Draco rolled to the side avoiding Dean's would be fatal blow. On his feet once more he rubbed the blood out of his eye with the heel of his hand and re-evaluated his position. This had gone on for long enough.

He jumped towards Dean and stabbed towards his chest. Dean crossed his weapons to block the blow as expected; Malfoy used this opening to knock Dean unconscious using his hilt. As Dean fell, he spat a mist of blood into the air before hitting the ground and rolling his eyes into the back of his head. Malfoy then spun round and twirled his sword around his stomach switching hands to slice across the back of Ron's thigh. Injured and bleeding, Ron's leg gave out and he sank to one knee. Using his sword for balance he raised his shield to block Malfoy's incoming blow. As his sword impacted the dense wood splinters flew into the air and the crowd gasped. His blade lodged securely in the shield, Malfoy was momentarily disarmed. Ron saw an opening and lifted his sword to strike at Malfoy's exposed chest. He missed and Draco kicked the shield to the ground. Lunging at Ron he slammed into his chest winding him. Kicking out his other knee, Malfoy stood and landed a punch squarely into Ron's face rendering him also unconscious.

Retrieving his sword from Ron's splintered shield he then turned to face Oliver Wood who was by now struggling with the weight of his great-sword. Using both hands he parried most of Malfoy's stabs, strikes and strokes but he was slowing down and becoming careless with his defence. Malfoy noticed he was favouring his left side and so decided to take advantage of this. He feigned left and as Oliver moved to block him he rolled under the moving sword and stood up placing his sword against the right of Oliver's neck. Oliver realised Malfoy had him at a fatality point and so lowered his sword accepting his defeat.

"Finish it," panted Wood.

"No," whispered Malfoy.

The crowd was still with anticipation, disbelief etched across all their faces. Hermione held her breath as she waited for Harry to make a move but before he could, Malfoy's voice broke the silence.

"I will not kill them, Potter. Senseless killing is not my mandate, nor has it ever been. You pitted me against your best and I overcame them. I believe I have completed your challenge and now I place my fate in your hands once more. What else must I do to prove my loyalty to you? I have fought your warriors and now I shall spare their lives to show that I bear you no ill will."

Malfoy stepped away from Oliver, removed the blade from his neck and sheathed his sword. Harry was dumbstruck. Oliver turned to look at Ron and Dean who were groaning on the sand at his feet before looking to Harry for orders. Hermione turned to her friend and saw the ghost of a decision begin to form in his face but before the thoughts became actions she knew she had to do something.

"Harry," said Hermione softly.

Harry turned to face his second in command.

"Let him live, Harry. He has proven loyal and the fact that he spared those three should count for something! We could use him Harry, learn from him. He could be the one thing we need to destroy Voldemort. Think of the knowledge he has already shared and imagine what else he knows. An opportunity lies before you, you need only seize it and it could be the difference between winning and losing. Spare his life for all our sakes; give me time with him. I will unlock his secrets and then we can end this, all of this, it is in your power to end it. For Ginny. For James. For Thorin. End it."

Harry stared at Hermione impassively. She knew he was thinking the possibilities over and she willed him to make the right choice. Somehow, she knew she was right in this. Malfoy was the key! To what exactly she didn't know, but all she knew was that he was important. He had a purpose and the chance that it was to end Voldemort was something that she couldn't let escape them.

Across the sands, Malfoy could see that something was passing between Hermione & Harry. He thought he knew what it was but he had been trained to never make assumptions and this training kicked in now, sobering him. He closed his eyes once more and attempted to calm his breathing and steady his heart. The crowd began to murmur and shift restlessly as the minutes passed. Once more he heard the shifting of sand as a figure moved towards him yet still his eyes remained closed. When he heard the sand still and felt the warm breath of the person in front of him upon his face he opened his eyes and found himself staring into the face of Hermione Granger. She did not speak or utter a single sound.

Harry stood up on the bench directly behind her and raised his arms for silence once more. "WHO ARE WE?" he bellowed at the crowd. Silence was his answer. "WHO ARE WE?" he asked again. Still, his only answer was the stunned silence of his army. "Are we Death Eaters? Are we assassins?" he asked a third time. A few shouts of 'no' were heard from amongst the people gathered. "What say you? Are we assassins or Death Eaters?" said Harry. This time the answer was collective, "NO", they shouted. "Exactly, so why should we obey the rules of the barbarians we seek to destroy? This is not our way! We do not kill men who pass tests presented with honour and dignity," roared Harry. "We do not slaughter victors just because the outcomes do not suit us. Malfoy has proven victorious and yet he spared the lives of our comrades. He showed quarter to his opponents where none would have been given to him. This shows me honour, this shows me valour, and this shows me courage. Above all, this shows me repentance. What say you?" The crowd cheered and shouted their agreement.

Malfoy heard all this and looked back to Hermione's face. She gave him a small smile and once more Malfoy felt as if there was a storm raging around them and she the epicentre, safe within its eye.

"You passed and so you live. I have vouched for you and so you are accepted. Welcome to the Order of the Phoenix, Malfoy."


End file.
